PROLOGUE
In a house where women are gathered for a meeting of
Mothers Without Custody, she searches the room with
anxious eyes, as if some answer might be hidden
there for her. It is a neglected, cheerless room in
which, with its gray curtains and wilted amaryllis that
pleads for water, the very air is thick with sorrow.
The desperate, poor immigrant whose husband has
fled back to India with their two daughters sits with
her face in her hands, for she has neither the means
nor the worldly knowledge to pursue them. The fashionable
woman with the coral scarf and the handsome earrings has
lost her twelve-year-old boy to the charms of his
father's lakeside mansion. The recovered
alcoholic pleads in vain for a second chance.
To them and to all of them, her heart goes out. Still, there
is never any pain as piercing as one's own; she cannot
stay here for another minute. Quietly she rises
and goes outside into the muggy summer noon.

From the top of the hill where her car is parked, she
looks down at the rooftops below and thinks
about the random cruelties that may be hidden under any
one of those roofs. Strange-or not so strange-that,
standing at a window in Paris not very long ago, she had
the same thought. . . .
Solid in status, circled by wide lawns and
lavish shrubbery, the house stood where the outer
suburbs met the countryside and the road wound toward
the Berkshire hills. The land rose in ripples.
In the morning the rising sun washed the hilltops in
hazy pink light; at day's end the afterglow, lingering
above them, lay like a scarlet stripe between the dark land
and a foaming gray sea of clouds.
On such an evening, Hyacinth put aside the
sketches and charcoal on her desk to gaze with
pleasure at the scene. Except for the faintest
rustle of leaves in the warm September air, it was
quite still. And at the open window, she too stood quite still,
in awe of the evening.
A mood, one of those that in occasional self-mockery
she called her "poetic moments," had overcome
her. Yet the mood ought not to be mocked, especially
now when she was so incredibly happy. So secure,
contented, and loved-so incredibly happy!
Abruptly then, she heard voices. Her parents,
following their custom, were sitting on the open
porch below. She had never eavesdropped and was
certainly not about to do so now. But she had heard her
name.
"Hy is twenty-one," Dad said. "She's not a child
anymore."
"Hyacinth is twenty-one going on twelve."
"You amaze me, Francine. Here's a girl, an
A student, only one year out of college, and already
interning in one of the finest museums in the country.
And," he went on, in the proud, earnest tone that a
father assumes when he is boasting about an only
daughter, "she's an artist! She'll make a name
for herself. Wait and see."
"I'm not talking about academics. I'm talking
about emotions. Haven't you noticed how she walks
around with a smile all the time? I wouldn't be
surprised if she was already planning a wedding. Oh,
I'd like to ship that fellow to Australia, or
Tierra del Fuego, or anyplace."
Hy pulled the desk chair to the window and sat there
dumbfounded.
"What have you really got against him, Francine?
All right, so you haven't been enthusiastic about him,
and that's your privilege, but why so vehement? Why?"
"He'll break her heart, Jim, that's
why. Gerald's a chaser. I see it. I feel it
in my bones. Right now he's struggling to get ahead,
but once there, he'll drop her. I don't trust
him. He'll chase after women, and women will chase
after him. He's too gorgeous. He ought to be in
Hollywood. Hyacinth's no match for that kind of
business."
"For God's sake, your imagination is running
away
with you. He's certainly faithful enough. Three times
every week, plus every weekend."
"I don't say he can't be sincere at the moment.
It's possible, after a fashion. She certainly
has qualities that you don't find everywhere you
look. Deep intelligence. Taste. Dignity.
And she so obviously adores him. That flatters a
man."
"I still say you're making a mountain out of a
molehill."
"Jim! I'm talking about humiliation. I'm
talking about heartbreak. He's not for her. He's
not!"
Hyacinth's heart hammered in her ears. Not for me?
What do you know about him, or about me, either? You know
nothing about my life.
"She's so good, Jim. A genuinely good human
being."
"Yes, yes, that she is."
As dearly
as if
she had been sitting down there on the porch with them,
Hyacinth saw their faces: her father's pale eyes,
so much like her own, reflective, looking off into the
distance; her mother's darting eyes, bright and blue, with the
two vertical lines between them that appeared whenever she
was alert or emphatic.
"I don't see it at all, Francine. He's
agreeable, well mannered, smart, medical
school, medical honorary society. Pretty
desirable, if you ask me. And the fact is, I rather
like him."
"Yes, he's likable enough. But I tell you again,
he's too shrewd for her. She's a total
innocent. What does she know about the world? Or about
people? The only men she's gone out with are college
boys and maybe a couple
of artists she's met at her job. And not even many
of them. Gerald's taken up practically all of this
year."
The best year of my life. The year that's
changed my life.
"She's a typical artist, a student, a loner,
and always has been."
"A lot of people are artists and students and loners.
A lot of remarkable people."
"Yes, and they are often the ones who get hurt the
most."
"Well, if you feel this way, why don't you talk
to her about it?"
"Talk
to
her? For all her sweetness,, she can still be stubborn
as a mule when she wants to be, can't she? Do I
have to tell you? How long have we been asking her to stop
smoking? And has she stopped? It's odd, too.
She doesn't look like the type to go around with a
cigarette in her hand."
Should she run downstairs now and confront them with her
outrage? But she sat there, unable to move, and
waited for more.
Dad spoke quietly. "You're getting yourself all
worked up."
"What shall I do? Sit calmly watching a man
get what he can out of my child?"
"What do you mean by 'get what he can"?
Sex?"
"Who knows? But there are other things besides sex."
Dad persisted. "Such as?"
"Look around. What's bad about this house?
Pretty comfortable here, isn't it? He noticed
things, too, the few times he was here. He kept
looking around. I saw him."
"Well, why wouldn't he be curious? It's only
natural. He's lived poor all his life, and
he's up to his ears in debt to the university.
It's not like you to be so critical. It's not like you
to be cynical." There was a sigh in Dad's
voice. He hated argument.
"Not cynical. Realistic."
"Let's go inside. The mosquitoes are out."
But Francine was not finished. "Don't be misled
by Hy's brains or her energy or her ambition.
At heart, she's a bookworm. Give her a
book or a new CD, and she's happy. Her
wants are simple. She's simple. And that
fellow isn't. They don't even like the same
things."
Dad laughed. "How much chemistry did you know or
like when you married me?"
"That was different. You were Mr. Honorable,
Mr. Salt-of-the-Earth. And you still are,"
Francine said softly. She gave a small,
rueful laugh. "She's soft, like you. Not like me,
Jim."
"Well, we've been a great combination anyway,
haven't we? Come on in with me. This is a big,
useless fuss about nothing. Believe me. And even
if it were as serious as you say, there wouldn't be anything
we could do about it."
The screen door slammed below. Night came
falling out of the sky. Still Hyacinth sat, trembling
in the dimness. She had been wounded, degraded, and
insulted.
What cruel things to have said about Gerald! He was so
gentle, so thoughtful-so
decent'.
Decent, you would say if you had to sum him up in a
word. He worked so hard, he had been given so little.
Yet he never complained. He was happy with even the
smallest pleasure
that came his way-a book on his birthday or an
occasional dinner at this house.
I should go right down there and defend him, she thought
fiercely. What am I waiting for? But her legs
were weak. As water is sucked out of a basin,
so all the energy she had possessed an hour before had
drained away.
There was no use trying to do any more work this night, so
she lit a cigarette and cleared the desk, putting
away the charcoal and the folio of sketches. After a
while she undressed and lay down on the bed.
Fear came suddenly. Oh God, if anything should
happen! Could anything happen? If Gerald were here,
he would hold and comfort her.... So she lay, while
her mind drifted back and back.
How clearly she remembered their first meeting, the
place and hour, the first words, and even what she had
worn. She had worn a raincoat, the day had been
raw, and the museum's parking lot had been a puddle
of mud. She had started down the hill and was passing
the university when, through the rearview mirror, she
saw a young man standing in front of the medical
school, unprotected against the downpour by either coat
or umbrella. He was clasping to his chest a
bundle of books in a plastic bag, and he was
soaked through.
She backed up. "Need a lift?"
Tin waiting for the bus. It goes on the hour, but I
think I've just missed it."
"You have. It's ten after. I'll take you where
you're going. Climb in."
"Thanks, but I'm heading the other way."
"No matter. You can't stay out in this." You wouldn't
want to leave your deg outside in such weather, so
cold, with fall in the ait
"I won't refuse. Just as far as the next bus
stop, then. That would be great."
"You don't have to wait for the bus," she said as they
neared the covered shelter. "Where do you live? PH
take you,"
"Hey! I live in Linden. No, drop me off
here at the stop."
. She had never known anyone who lived in Linden.
It was a factory town with a railroad bridge and
truck traffic, a place you barely glimpsed and
skirted as you passed on your way to someplace
else. And it was a good ten miles distant.
His books were still pathetically clutched to his chest.
She had hardly seen his face, half-concealed as it
was between tousled wet hair and a hunched, sodden
collar. Now she looked: It was a nice,
respectable face.
"We'll go to Linden," she said.
He protested. "Oh no, I can't let you do that."
"You can't not let me unless you jump out of the
car."
"Okay, then." He smiled. "Gerald's my name.
What's yours?"
"Hyacinth. I hate it."
Now why had she said that? Always apologizing for the
silly name! It was a habit that ought to be broken.
"Why so? It's a gentle name. It goes with your
face."
Gentle.
What an odd thing to say!
She was not feeling gentle right now as she lay,
remembering, with all this pounding in her head.
"My car's stalled. It's thirteen years old,"
he explained. "I hope it's just a dead
battery."
"I hope so."
An uncomfortable silence fell. Apparently it had
the same uncomfortable effect upon him, because
he
broke it.
"I'm a fourth-year med student, finished next
May. Are you a student?"
"I was graduated last May. Now I work."
"Out in the world already. I've got three more years
to put in, maybe four if I do a
fellowship after the residency."
"You sound sorry."
"Not really. I love what I do. It's just that
I'm in kind of a hurry to earn and be on my own.
What do you do?"
"I was an art major. Now I'm an intern at the
museum, conserving old or damaged art. And I
paint and have a studio at home."
"All kinds of ways of making a living; conserving
damaged art-that's one I never thought of."
"It's more than making a living. It takes a lot
of skill."
She should not have answered him that way. It had sounded
arrogant, and she hadn't meant it to. So she
softened her words with an explanation. "We get
paintings and sculpture from all over the country,
things that have been badly restored, or not restored at
all. Right now I'm removing varnish from an 1870
oil portrait that's turned all yellow."
"Sounds interesting."
. "Oh, it is. I love it, but I have a lot
to learn yet. Repairing tears-it's
nerve-wracking."
"Sounds like surgery. What I'm hoping to do."
It's
a
funny thing about conversations. If you don't return
the ball but let it drop, people think you're unfriendly.
So you must quickly think of something to say. Though why should
she care if this stranger thought she was unfriendly?
Nevertheless, she continued.
"This is a nice place, one of the best state
universities in the country, they say."
"It is, and I'm grateful to it. But if I could have
gotten as good a loan from someplace out west or down
south or anywhere new, I would have gone there instead."
"I wanted to get away, too, but I have three
older brothers who've done it, and I knew my
parents hoped I'd be the one to stay home."
Another silence fell. After a minute or two,
he broke it again.
"This is a great car."
"I suspect it's my reward for staying home."
Yes, surely it had been a reward, her little red
car, her shiny toy, a reward like the summer art
course in Italy. Just in time, she stopped herself from
saying so; you didn't mention European trips to a
person on scholarship.
"They're making a real cultural center out of this
old mill town, aren't they?" he remarked.
"I hear the museum is really famous."
"It is. Have you ever been in it?"
"No, I don't know anything about art."
"It's marvelous. You should visit it sometime."
"Maybe I will."
The windshield wipers were barely coping with the
rain. As the car lurched roughly, over potholes and
labored dangerously through a gush of high water, it
was a struggle to stay on the road. Conversation lapsed
until they reached the turnoff to Linden, where she
asked for directions to his house.
"It's on Smith Street. Middle of town.
I'll show you."
When he got out and stood thanking her, she had her
first full sight of his markedly noticeable height,
bright black hair, vivacious eyes, and firm,
oval face. Anyone, man or woman, would look
twice.
"I can't thank you enough," he said earnestly.
"You talk as if I'd done something
extraordinary."
"Well, you just did."
She drove back down the street of dingy shops,
interspersed here and there with the wretched relic of a
colonial Massachusetts town house.
Here, shoes were repaired, newspapers bought, meat
sold, and hair barbered; above them, behind fire
escapes, tired curtains hung at
dreary
windows. The sight of these in the now- slackening rain
was curiously sobering to her.
Gerald. He hadn't even told her his last name.
And she remembered now how even in the privacy of
her mind, she had been so hotly ashamed of her own
absurd thought:
He is the kind of man I could love.
And that after just twenty minutes!
"You never know what tomorrow will bring," Granny said
always. She made good use of cliches. "You won't
have to be told when you meet Mr. Right."
Perhaps Granny really did know a thing or two.
For, only two days after the rainstorm, while she was
at work, she had become aware that heads were turned
toward the door behind her; looking about, she had seen
Gerald peering into the room. His lips were forming words.
"May I come in?"
Flushed and disbelieving, she was unsure of an
answer, but he had already stepped in.
"I took your advice about visiting the museum,"
he said.
"We-we're working here," she replied awkwardly,
thinking that people would not like this intrusion.
With an olive pit, she had been polishing an
ancient bronze Buddha. She remembered it
well-the great, airy room, the northern light, her
trembling hands on the treasure, and Gerald looking
at her.
"I understand. I'll wait for you outside. I only
wanted to see you again," he said.
She remembered everything.... Quieted now, and
purged of the evening's rage, she looked up at the
shadowed ceiling and smiled.
But anger, in the morning, surged back.
"He's too shrewd for Hy. He'll break her
heart. He'll chase after women."
So violently did she brush her hair, her
scalp stung.
He'll break my heart?
No,
it's you who's doing that, franctne, you.
"Why do you call your mother by her first name?" Gerald
had asked.
"Because Francine likes it," she had explained.
Her real name was Frances; she was of French
extraction some four generations or more ago, and
even though she couldn't speak a word of the beautiful
language, she loved to appear French.
Probably she felt that Frenchness went along with
her beauty.
Hy's indignation mounted. Every irritant, every
grievance that naturally accumulates among people living
together under the same roof, all the stifled and
relatively
trivial offenses, rose up now to flood her
mind. And she spoke aloud: "Because you were a
runner-up in a statewide beauty contest, you
expected your daughter to go as far as or farther than
you. Oh, I understand clearly! I know I've been
a disappointment to you. I'm too tall and angular,
gawky and thin. I don't run with the Saturday
night crowd as you did when you were my age. Nor have
I ever been an athlete, or not enough of one to captain
the women's swim team or play basketball in the
intramural games, as you did. You're not really
interested in my paintings. You'd never say so, but I
know what you think. Yes, you love me. There's no
doubt of that, and you've been a good mother, but you are
disappointed in me all the same. You alone. Not
Dad, nor my bosses at the museum, and
certainly not Gerald...."
The house was quiet. Suddenly she wanted to flee
from it before anyone should wake up. There was no way a
person could possibly put on a normal face
after last night. Dressing quickly, she went on
stocking feet toward the stairs.
The walls there were lined with family photographs.
Thousands of times she must have passed them, yet today, in
spite of her haste, something compelled her to pause and
look at these people again. Here was a nineteenth-century
gentleman wearing a high starched collar; here was a
1920's girt wearing a bell-shaped hat. Who were
they really, behind their composed and amiable
semi-smiles? Are we at all alike, they and
I? Here were her older brothers, George in white
with his inevitable tennis racket; the other two at
their respective weddings
with their lacy, proper brides. George, Paul,
and Thomas they were, all handsome duplicates in
male form of their mother. They were not like Hyacinth, not at
all.
"You give them sensible names," she had many times
complained. "Then you name me
Hyacinth.
It's idiotic. Whatever were you thinking of?"
"They had to have those dull names," Francine
would explain with remarkable patience, one had
to admit, "after two grandfathers and one uncle killed
in the war. So when you arrived, I wanted something
beautiful for the only daughter I would ever have. I
wanted the name of a spring flower.
For an otherwise intelligent woman, Francine
could say absurd things. In some ways, she really was
a trifle ridiculous. And such a judgment about
one's own mother was, at the very least, discomforting, like
having a sharp pebble in one's shoe. But when
absurdity turned into cruelty like last night's, it
was no pebble.
She started the car and drove till she reached the fork
in the road, thert stopped. Where to go? It was
Saturday, and Gerald was taking today and tomorrow to study
for a test on Monday. The conservation center at the
museum was officially closed except to senior
independent workers. The obvious choice then, the
only choice, was Granny's house.
You could always open your heart to her. She was as soothing
and strengthening as-as hot oatmeal on a cold
Monday morning. Even her house, on an old
street in the heart of the old, original town, had a
comforting welcome with its wraparound porch, wooden
lace; and flowers in season-tulips,
hollyhocks, and asters-
against the backyard fence. In that house, Granny had
been born and married. Most probably she would
die there, too, but probably not for a long time. She
was as strong as she looked, a woman at peace with
herself. You could never imagine her striving for
popularity or worrying over what "people might think"!
It was known to all but never mentioned that Francine and
Granny had little love for each other.
A fragrance of sugar and cinnamon filled the hall
when the front door was opened. Hy sniffed the air.
"Baking already? It's just past eight."
"Apple pies," Granny said, "for that shut-in
couple down the street. I try to bring them something
on weekends. Come on in. Or do you want the
porch? It's warm enough."
"The porch is fine.
"Then wait till I get my sewing. I'm making
a quilt for your brother's baby, squares and
circles in pink, blue, and yellow, to be on the
safe side."
You never saw her with empty hands. Maybe it was some
Puritan heritage that compelled her to keep moving,
or maybe it was just nervous energy. And thinking so,
while Granny settled herself with her work on
her Lap, it seemed to Hyacinth that she herself had more
than a bit of that nervous energy.
"I never thought I'd live long enough to be making things
for a great-grandchild. Do you like it? Honestly?"
Hy considered the subject. "Not quite so much pink.
Pink ought to be no more than an accent, I think."
Tilting her head from one angle to another, Granny
considered. "You know what? You're right. You always
did have a good eye for color. You should think of making
something for the new baby, too-an heirloom from
Aunt Hyacinth. You haven't forgotten how to hook
a rug, I hope."
"It's been a long time, but I haven't forgotten."
"No, of course not. You have golden hands, Hy. I
tried to teach your mother, but she wasn't interested."
No, you could never imagine Francine sitting still
over any painstaking work, or spending hours in a
kitchen, either. She liked being out of the house, working for
charities and good causes, of which she was often the
organizer; or else she was competing in a sport like
tennis or golf, at which she was often the winner.
Francine had to win things. She had to run things and
lead people.
"Tell me about your work," Granny said
pleasantly. "Your father tells me you're in
one of the country's best conservation departments."
"That's true, but I'm only a beginner. It
takes years of training before you can be entrusted with a
painting worth a few million dollars."
"You'll be making a name for yourself with your own paintings
one day. That was a splendid study of your dad taking
a nap."
Hy was pleased. Indeed, it seemed to everyone who
saw it that the picture was a very fine, very sensitive
portrait.
But Granny was regarding her intently. After a few
more casual remarks, she suddenly interrupted her.
"Why have you really come here so early this morning? There
must be something serious on your mind."
Having come to ease herself by pouring out her complaint,
Hy now wished she had not come. It was such a shabby
story after all, a mother and daughter at odds over the
daughter's lover! But she sat up straight, told
the story, and concluded, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't
expect you to take sides. I should not involve you.
I should have kept it to myself."
"Not if it makes you feel better to speak out.
I'm always here for you, Hy, you know that. I have only
one piece of advice, though. Don't make an
issue about what you overheard. There'd be
nothing gained except more hard feelings. Pretend you
never heard anything, and go about your business. Has
he asked you to marry him?"
"Not yet, but he will."
"And you'll say yes? You're sure you ought to?"
"Of course I'm sure. I love him."
"Your mother's a pretty smart lady, you know."
This observation, coming from this particular mother- in-law,
astonished Hyacinth.
"She and I don't always have the same opinions about
things, as you've probably noticed." This was spoken
with a wry smile. "Still, perhaps you should think about what
she said. Of course I know nothing about your young man,
but I do know that marriage is not a picnic, and you
had better know what you're doing."
For the first time ever, Hy was receiving no comfort here, where
she had expected to find agreement and indignation on
her behalf.
"You're annoyed with me, Hyacinth. You wanted me
to say something else."
"Well yes, I guess I did."
. "Cheer up. The sky hasn't fallen. Tomorrow will be
a better day."
The old-fashioned cliches, usually rather amusing and
endearing, were at this moment neither.
"Take a pie home. I made three of them."
"We're all dieting," Hy said shortly.
"Such a fuss about a few pounds! And you as thin as a
stick. Doesn't your mother feed you people anything but
salad? Don't you ever do any cooking yourself? You
should. I've taught you enough. Take the apple pie
and a chicken casserole with it. I've more in the
freezer."
She didn't argue. The simplest thing was to accept
the food because it would be thrust into her hands anyway.
So she gave thanks, got into the car, and drove
slowly down the street, unsure of where to go next.
A sense of defiance, lonely and chill, overcame
her. In no mood to go home, in no mood to see
any friends, she stopped the car in front of the
library. It was as good a place as any in which
to hide out for the rest of the day.
When Hyacinth went home, Francine's car was not
in the garage, and that was a relief, however
temporary. Dad was probably in the garden
planting spring bulbs, and since she did not feel
like talking to anyone, that was good, too.
Upstairs in the room that had once belonged
to George and was now her studio, she closed the
door and surveyed her work. For some minutes
she stood, trying to see it with impartial eyes,
to judge proportion, perspective, shading,
brushwork, all of it. Every teacher had praised the snow
scenes; studying them now, it seemed
she had truly gotten the feeling, the dreamlike
silence of falling snow. She looked again at the
portrait study of her father. It was
true.
It seemed to her that she had caught the essence of him.
Ever since the chemical plant had been downsized,
forcing him into retirement, he had grown older and
quieten He had always been quiet, but now his eyes
were heavy-lidded, even when he was cheerful. Yes, it
seemed to her that she had caught the essence of him; here
he was, ready to be framed.
And suddenly came revelation: Her work was good!
Whatever else might befall her, her work was her
strength. It would take her freely through the world. It
would be foolish to let anything sap her confidence in
herself and her future. Why then had she wasted this
whole day in sorrow?
From the yard below, there sounded the whir of the old hand mower
that Dad employed to tidy edges. She called down
to him.
"Hey Dad, I'm home."
"I thought I heard the garage door. Your mother's still
out. Where've you been all day?"
"Places. I stopped at Granny's, and as
usual, she gave me food. That chicken thing with
shrimp that you like. And I'll make a tossed
salad."
"No, we don't need one. You work hard all
week. Take the day off."
"For heaven's sake, a salad's no work."
"Okay, I'll set the table on the porch.
There'll be just enough time to eat and finish before dark."
Plainly, he enjoyed these domestic moments with his
daughter. She sensed that the shrinkage of his family-
George at a bank in Singapore and the two
married sons in business together on the West Coast-
comwas more painful for him than he would admit, even
to himself.
When she had assembled the customary heap of greens,
to which she added some unexpected sprinkles of
strawberries and chopped walnuts, she placed it in
a handsome Wedgwood bowl that was kept in the dining-
room cabinet for display. Dad's eyebrows made
two startled Vs when he saw it.
"Using that?"
"Why not?"
"Well, it's a treasure, an antique-was .
"All the more reason to enjoy it ourselves. I believe
in everyday pleasures, not in keeping them for company.
Isn't it a pleasure to look at that perfect
blue?"
Dad was silent for a moment. "The man who gets you
is lucky, whoever he is," he said then. "Smart,
successful, independent, and still domestic enough to make
a person want to come home and stay."
Now Hyacinth was silent. Had she not decided, and
had Granny not advised her to say nothing? Yet
now, of their own accord, her words new. was "Whoever
he is"? You really do know who he is, don't you?
I heard you both last night, Dad. Or I should
say, I heard Francine. I didn't mean
to listen, but I couldn't help it."
"I'm sorry. Awfully sorry." Dad sighed.
"I didn't agree with her, as you heard."
"I should hope not. She said horrible things."
"But still, listen to me. Your mother's opinion is
worth respect, no matter what. It comes with the
best, most loving intentions. I don't have to tell you
that."
"It was cruel. It was nasty. Wanting money and
chasing after women-she doesn't even know
Gerald, for God's sake. She was so vehement.
You said so yourself. Vehement, you said."
"All right, I did. But try to understand that she's
only expressing her fears. She sees you
possibly making a mistake. She's a mother,
protecting her child."
"Child? Me? Twenty-one years old,
self-supporting, in a wonderful job?"
"All true. But you haven't mentioned that you're also
rather stubborn, Hyacinth." Dad's smile was a bit
rueful.
"When you know you're right, you have to be stubborn. I'm
defending Gerald. He's being misjudged, and I
love him."
"Well. Just don't be too much in love too
soon, if you can help it. Time takes care of many
things."
Bury your differences, smooth them, and eventually they
will disappear. Platitudes. A nice way of
saying nothing.
"I hope you won't let your indignation run away
with you, Hy. It would only lead to argument and would
solve nothing. Certainly not right now, while the
fire's still hot."
"I know, I know. Granny said the same
thing. I'm not foolish. I don't want a fight.
In some ways, I'm a lot like you."
K
If Gerald is the man you say he is, and I
believe he is, your mother will believe it, too. Just
don't be in a
hurry." Dad looked at his watch. He wanted
the discussion to end fast, before Francine should appear.
"Anyway, you're not getting married tomorrow, so there's
no rush," he was saying, just as Francine came out
onto the porch.
"I'm late," she said. "I didn't expect so
much traffic going home. And the fashio'n show took
fortVer. Wtfat you have to endure if you want
to raise money! We cleared sixteen thousand
dollars, believe it or not, for the children's hospital.
I really knocked myself out over this luncheon, I can
tell you that."
"You don't look knocked out," Dad said. "That's
a nice outfit,"
The gray tweed suit was simple and would have been
quiet were it not for the jade green scarf so
skillfully fastened over her neck and shoulders.
When she raised her arm to push a black sweep of
hair from her forehead, silver bracelets
glistened. Framed by the doorway, Francine made
a picture. Hy gave it a title:
Woman with Silver Bracelets.
For all her modern dress and manner, she also had
the poise and polish of what Sargent would have labeled
Portrait of Francine.
"My goodness, what a beautiful table! And the chicken
dish-it looks like your mother's, Jim. Or is it
yours, Hy?"
"No, Granny's. I was there this morning."
"Well, this is a feast. The food was awful today, so
I'm starved."
Loquacious as always, Francine spoke brightly,
gliding from one topic to another, certain that they were
waiting to hear her.
"I don't believfc it's been two years since
Tom's wedding. Did I tell you that Diana
phoned yesterday to thank us for the anniversary
present?"
"I forget whatwe sent," Dad said.
"A copper coffee urn, really stunning. Large enough
to
be
serve fifty cups. They're giving a lot of
parties to help the-business. I'm so proud
of Tom. It's a good thing, too, that Diana is very
sociable. Which reminds me, HyaJust cinth, I
passed Martha's house and saw a truck unload'
ing chairs for the party. Her mother was at the lunch today.
She said they expect a houseful. What are you going
to wear?"
"I'm not going."
"Whyever not?"
If a voice were a ribbon, Hy thought, you could
distinguish the threads in those words: alarm, impatience,
and a trace of exasperation.
"It'll be nothing but a great big bash, and I never
like them."
"But you need friends, Hyacinth."
"Don't I already have plenty?"
"But these are particular old friends. They're
neighbors. And you've known Martha since grade
school. How can you snub her now?"
Tm not snubbing her or anybody. Do you think she
cares whether I come or not?"
Francine pushed the half-eaten dessert away and
returned her voice to gentle patience.
"Maybe she does care. You don't want to hurt
her feelings."
Hurt her feelings! Impossible! Martha
moved as
smoothly through the world as if she were gliding on ice.
In an odd way, come to think of it, she resembled
Fran- cine herself. She could be her daughter.
"I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings.
But I have other plans, so I couldn't accept
anyway."
Nobody spoke. Dad, watching this exchange,
poured another cup of coffee and stirred it uselessly
until Fran- cine did speak.
"I thought I heard something when I came in about "not
getting married yet." If it's true, I'm
glad about it, but does it have anything to do with turning
down Martha's party?"
"Yes, it does." Hy spoke steadily. "I would
rather be with Gerald."
"Well, take him to the party."
"It wouldn't work out. He doesn't fit with that
crowd."
"Why not? What's wrong with "that crowd"? They're
perfectly decent young people as far as I can see."
"I never said they weren't decent." The reply was
sulky. Feeling cornered, Hyacinth would have liked
to walk away.
"So? I don't understand all this."
"It's hard to explain. It's subtle. Subtle
differences among people, that's all."
Oh, can't she see that all I want-we want-is
to be alone? We hardly ever have any alone time.
No place except a seedy motel. And you talk
about Martha's unimportant party.
"Subtle differences. Yes, there are. And you are
wasting your time by giving all of it to one man. You need
to
get out more among groups and observe those subtle
differences, instead of spending every free hour with him."
Francine was losing her struggle against impatience.
"On Gerald, you "mean." Now anger rushed
back. "You might as well know that I heard everything
you said last night."
"Oh, Hy, you promised!" Dad cried, putting
the cup down so forcefully that coffee slopped onto
the table.
"I'm sorry you did," Francine said. "I'm
truly sorry. But I can't help what I feel.
I'm not telling you never to see Gerald. I'm
only afraid you will get too deeply involved.
I may be all wrong, but I don't think so."
There went the worry lines on her forehead again. They
were absurd, theatrical and absurd.
"I already am deeply involved," Hy said.
And now their eyes joined in a long significant
look. Each was recalling an afternoon's encounter no more
than a month ago.
"I have to ask you, Hyacinth," Francine had said
then. "You'll say you're twenty-one and it's your
life, which is true, yet parents don't lose
interest simply because a person is an adult. But
are you sleeping with him?"
This had been the ultimate humiliation. "Not yet,"
she had lied, and enjoying the freedom to taunt a
bit, however politely, she had added, "Not yet,
although he wants to."
"Of course he does! And of course you are! Just
don't let him play with you! You may be
twenty-one, but you don't know everything. Sex isn't
a game."
Hyacinth said fiercely now, "This talk is all
about
your hating Gerald, Francinc. That's all it is.
I can't believe the things you've said. It isn't like
you to be so unkind."
"I never said I hated him. You are so stubborn,
Hyacinth!"
"Dad's already told me that once today."
Francine glared at Hy. "Well, you are."
"Weren't you stubborn when you were in love with Dad?"
"There is no comparison, Hyacinth. None at
all. We knew each other well. Our families
knew each other. We were part of the same community.
There was nothing sudden about the affair."
Hy kept looking at those tiny vertical lines between
her mother's delicate eyebrows; they were the only
lines to mar her perfect skin.
Skin like milk,
Dad always said.
She's always so sure she's right, Hy thought,
replying quietly, "It's not the suddenness that you
mind. It's that Gerald's not "part of the community."
It's that he lives alone in a room in Linden."
Francine gasped. "Is that your opinion of me?
If it is, you should be ashamed. Are you hearing this,
Jim?"
"I am. Yes, that was unfair, Hyacinth. The
last thing anyone could accuse your mother of being is a
money snob."
Well, probably it was unfair and untrue. And
yet the things she had said about Gerald and this house-
She apologized. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have
said it. I'll only say that for some reason
or other, you don't like him. And that is totally,
unforgivably mean of you."
For a mother and daughter, they were too often at odds with
each other. Now they were at an impasse.
Once again it was Dad who broke through the tension.
"You're both letting your emotions run away with you,
and that's a great pity because you are both reasoning people, and
you love each other. So here's what you do. Both of
you, drop the subject. Right now. I don't want
to hear it again, and I mean that. None of us really know
the young man all that well to have any worthwhile
opinion. You may tell him, Hyacinth, that we would
like to see more of him. If he's sincere, he'll
welcome the invitation. And now let's finish this pie
in peace."
Thirty miles one way to see an an movie,"
Francine asked. "Is it worth it in such weather?"
The objection was pleasantly spoken, and coming as it
did after two or more weeks of calm, it was
pleasantly received.
"It's only rain."
"Look out of the window."
A violent wind racked the trees, whipped the
lowest branches far enough to graze the ground, and
snapped them back.
"It's the last day," Hy said, "so it's our only
chance to see this picture. It's supposed to be
marvelous."
"You have to drive so far out of your way to pick him up
in Linden."
"Because I'm the one with the good car. We can't depend
on his. Don't worry about me. It's not as if
they're expecting a blizzard. We'll take our
time getting there,
have something to eat after the matinee, and be home a little
late."
On the screen, a pair of lovers stood watching a
sailboat approach the curve of a blue-green
bay on the Tyrrhenian Sea. They were standing
close, hand in hand. A breeze blew the girl's
cotton skirt above her bare knees.
Gerald pressed Hy's hand. "Let's get out of
here. We don't need to wait for the end, do we?"
"It's so beautiful," she whispered. "I like to see
the fadeout."
"You can imagine it. I'll give you a better
fadeout. Trust me."
The Highway Motel stood between an abandoned
warehouse and a vacant lot littered with rusty
machinery. A large sign, conspicuously
placed and now brightly lit in the waning afternoon,
advertised rooms with television and video. They
had been here so often that Hyacinth was sure the desk
clerk must recognize them.
Gerald shuddered. "Disgusting, dirty place. God
knows I should be used to them. I've lived in one long
enough."
"It's not really so dirty."
"There goes my Hyacinth, looking at the bright
side."
"Why not? I've brought a nice quilt from home.
It's in the trunk, wrapped up so nobody'll know
what it is, although it's none of their business if they
do."
Gerald chuckled. "You think of everything."
"I think of you. I think of you all day."
They went inside. She had no idea what name he
had
written in the book and did not ask. That, too, was
nobody's business. When they closed their door and
locked it, she undressed the bed, laid the quilt
upon it, and began to undress herself.
"Feel my heart. Feel how it's thudding," she
said.
"To look at you, such a refined young person,
so ambitious and so serious, no one would ever guess
what else you are. I know I didn't guess it."
"So why did you come to the museum that day looking for
me?"
"I don't know. Why does a man seek out a
woman? You interested me very much."
"Wasn't it love at first sight? Don't laugh.
It happens, and not only in fairy tales, either."
"All right. Call it love at first sight. Oh,
come here. Get under this quilt with me."
After their brief sleep and the familiar peace that
follows completion, they lay watching the rain slanting
across the gray window.
"How it rained the day we met," Hy murmured.
His neck was soft to her lips. She wanted to lie like
this, never to move, to be here for all time, to be one with
him forever. A tremulous swell of emotion filled
her breast; a gladness and a tenderness that she had never
known before. She felt her heart's strong rhythm.
In the hall, loud voices rang and a door was
rudely slammed.
"What a dump this is," Gerald complained.
"I don't mind it. We're both here. Isn't that
enough?"
"No. We deserve better."
A vague sadness was thickening her throat with the
lump that precedes distears. From somewhere came the
memory of a saying:
After coitus, man is sad.
Why should that be? Is it fear that the rapture will never
come again? The sensation that we have when we hear
immortal music? Is it the feel of a June
day, flawless and once gone, gone forever? Or the
fear that he does not love her as she loves him?
She clung so tightly to him that he felt her wet
eyelids on his shoulder.
"I don't know. . .."
"I was only teasing before, when I pretended not
to believe in love at first sight," he said.
"Tell me what you love about me."
"I love your grave charm, your spirit, your talent,
your voice, your hot blood, everything. Hyacinth,
darling, you worry too much."
She said unexpectedly, even surprising herself,
"We must be completely honest with each other, you
know."
"Well, aren't we? I don't understand."
"Sometimes I've hesitated to say-some things are not
easy to say. . . . My parents would like to know you
better. . .. We are seeing so much of each
other."
In the semidarkness on the bed, his smile was
invisible, but she heard it in his voice. And she sat
up, turned on the light, and looked at him
anxiously.
"You're not angry?"
"No, no, of course not. They're only behaving like
parents. Parents of daughters."
"Dad thinks it's great that you're going to be a
doctor. As a chemist, a scientist, he
appreciates doctors. And he really likes you
besides."
"I know he does. And I know your mother doesn't."
Hyacinth felt the prickle of heat in her cheeks.
"Oh, she-actually, we haven't discussed you.
To begin with, she's not as talkative as Dad is, so
she and I-I don't mean that she and I don't get
along, but what I'm trying to say is that she can be very
positive, and I'm rather stubborn. I know I am,
so I sometimes avoid getting into discussions-was
She had digressed from the subject. She was
inexcusably clumsy, and she stopped just as Gerald
put his hand up to stop her.
"What you are trying to tell me, very tactfully, is
that I should not be hurt when I don't get a
hearty welcome from her. I understand. But I've
known almost from the very first that she does not approve of
me."
"I had no idea, I never thought-was
"You said we should be honest with each other, didn't
you?"
"Yes, but-what happened? What did she say?"
"She didn't say anything. She has an
expressive face, and I read people rather well. A
doctor should."
"I'm sorry. Oh darling, I'm sorry! She just
doesn't know you, that's all it is. She'll be the
first to admit she's wrong. She's very fair that
way."
"If you'll tell me what she objects to, I
can try to change it."
How could she tell him what Francine had really
said? Not able to look him in the face, she made a
halfhearted attempt. "She thinks you will not stay with
me, that I should not depend upon you."
"But of course that's crazy. I shall simply have
to disprove her."
"You're sure yddaren't angry?"
"I'm sure."
The whole business, this ugly suspicion,
was a humiliation for both of them. She had been
reckless to bring the subject up at all. And now,
from head to foot, her body burned with the shame of it.
"Don't look so miserable, Hy. Come here and see
yourself."
In the bathroom before the full-length mirror, they
stood naked together.
"You're spoiling your pretty face with that frown."
"Is it really pretty?"
"You know very well it is."
Straight shoulder-length chestnut hair fell
alongside a nicely symmetrical face with
grave eyes and high cheekbones below a broad,
smooth forehead.
"You could be really lovely with more makeup,"
Francine often said. "There's nothing wrong with you
except that you look too quiet."
"Your face shows character," Granny said, refuting
Francine. "You don't need to put a lot of
stuff on it," meaning obviously that Francine used
too much "stuff."
This amusing recollection now caused Hyacinth
to smile. She thought then how odd it was that her self-
confidence should vacillate so easily between its highs
and its lows. Though maybe everyone's did,
and they simply didn't talk about it or even
admit it to themselves?
"Do stand up straight," Francine had said.
"Tall women like you can fall into the habit of
slumping. You must watch out for round shoulders,
especially when you're with a man who's not tall enough for
you."
There was surely no need to worry about that with
Gerald. Here he stood, this miracle of a man who
turned people's heads, and he was all hers.
"You're trembling," he said. "Let's get some
clothes on. It's freezing in here. And it's late,
almost midnight. We'd better start. And don't
worry about anything, certainly not about your mother and me.
Just smile and leave it to me. She will approve of
me, I guarantee it, and sooner than you think.
She might even learn to love me."
The fire crackled and snapped. It glossed the
brass fender and flickered over the rosy Persian
carpet. Gerald stretched and sighed. "Bliss.
Perfect bliss. Falling snow outside, peace and
beauty inside."
Hyacinth was seeing the room with his eyes: the books,
the crystal horses on the mantel, and
Francine's nourishing potted gardenia in the
window bay. With his memory, she was also seeing his
room, which she had once visited: a dim box
filled with the noises of house and street, rank with the
smell of frying grease, crowded, cramped, and
lonely.
In a sense during these last months, they had entered
each other's lives. They had come to know each other in
ways beyond sexual love, in ways that no amount of
sexual love by itself could ever provide. It seemed
to her that she was feeling an increased tenderness in
Gerald, a thing quite apart from passion. He said, "I
love your hair."
"Too straight. I should take more time to curl it."
"No, don't. When it's smooth this way, the light
glows almost red over it." And he stroked her head.
The gesture was proprietary, as if he had a right
to prescribe, as when a husband asks a wife
to please him. The intimacy touched her heart as when
he would caution her against salting her food or
driving too close to the car ahead.
Dad had been so right when he had required her
to bring Gerald here every week. Gradually, almost
uneasily at first, he had begun to fit into the life
of the house. The two men were most definitely
compatible. And even Francine, although far from
enthusiastic, had a very different way with Gerald,
seeming to accept him without critical gesture or
word. No doubt she was sincerely examining the
situation.
"What a wonderful room," Gerald said now. "The
whole house is what you think of when you use the word
home.
Is it always so tranquil?"
"Now it is. It surely wasn't when I had
three brothers here. It was mighty noisy. And still
we all miss them."
"That reminds me, your father told me last week he
hadn't played a real game of chess since they
left."
"I know. My mother and I both try, but we're not
good enough. He wins too easily, and it's no fun
for him."
"I think it would be nice of me to propose a game
again right now."
"Yes, why don't you? He says you're a great
match. I'll sit here and look at this gorgeous
art book you gave
me. You really shouldn't have spent so much. You really
shouldn't."
"Why not? You're worth it, I think.
I'll go get your father."
They had planned to walk to the great pond this afternoon, but
snow had already started to whirl in the wind, and it had
been a better idea to be here where they were, while
it whirled on the other side of the window. The chess
game proceeded in the usual silence of deep
concentration. For a while, Hy looked toward the two
bent heads, the black and the mottled gray. And
watching them, she began to feel a soft, almost
sleepy contentment.
An odd thought came, one of those foolish images
that pop up out of nowhere: this one, for instance, of
colored marbles in a jug. Shake the jug, and they
all change places! Now what if I had not been
reared by
that
particular man-would I be what I am? Very
probably not. Almost surely I would not have met
that
man! And here we are, each linked in some fashion
to the other two, as well as to Francine, who is
upstairs making calls for one of her charities. A
jug of marbles ...
She opened the book and read half a chapter about the
neo-Impressionists. But she was reading the
same words over and over without absorbing their sense;
she was leafing through the rich illustrations without seeing
them. Her mind had veered away from the room and the
moment.
A few months from now, a major turning point would
be reached. Gerald was seeking a hospital
residency. Where was it to be? And what of her?
Nothing definite had yet been said about their
future. Was it not strange that nothing had been said?
Yet they had been making full and free confessions
to each other, had spoken of painful and sad things, of
embarrassing and confidential things dredged up from the
secret corners of memory.
Gerald had told her about his mother, who had died of
Alzheimer's disease after long suffering. She knew
that he too had suffered this tragedy, along with the
family's poverty, and that he had perhaps not been
brave enough, as he put it, "to take things more like a
man."
She had felt free to tell him the most silly
trivia, laughing at herself while she described
Martha, down the street, as her "nemesis" ever
since the fourth grade, when Martha had taunted her
about her name. "You surely don't look like any
flower," she had said. Martha had had
waist-length braids and no braces on her teeth.
They had even talked about past lovers, of whom
Hyacinth had had none. "I've never loved
anybody before you. They were all only friends, the boys
I knew,"
And he had replied, "I've had my share of
women, maybe more than my share, but they were none of
them like you. They were all meaningless. Can there be anyone
like you, Hyacinth?"
Simultaneously now, the two men rose from the
chessboard.
Gerald bowed. "I bow to a master," he said
gallantly.
"Nonsense! We're not halfway to the end, and
I'm
fighting hard. I only got up because Francine's
standing in the doorway. That means dinner's ready and
we have to break."
Hyacinth had made most of the dinner. Francine had
done the marketing, set the table, and peeled the
vegetables; it was a fair division of labor today,
since the one loved to cook and the other did not. The
season's first tulips flopped gracefully, as
tulips do, in a blue glass bowl. The fragrance
of herbs rose from a beef ragout that was
surrounded by browned potatoes and carrots. A
green salad lay at each place, and twin
decanters were filled with a fine red wine.
"A feast!" exclaimed Gerald.
"Hyacinth is not only an artist but a first-rate
cook."
She flushed. A person might think that this father was
trying to advertise his daughter, for goodness' sake!
But no, Jim was too forthright for that, and too innocent
of wiles. He was merely being affectionate.
Now he amended his remark. "Not depriving my
wife of any laurels, either."
Francine smiled. The smile was almost too small
to be called a smile, being merely a touch at the
corners of her mouth, merely enough to make a dimple
in each cheek. She wore a dark blue dress and
no jewelry but diamond studs in her ears. When
she moved her head, they winked. Today she was being
reserved. She wanted Gerald to do the talking, Hy
knew. She was watching him, waiting for something-for
what?-to reveal itself.
Yet you could not fault her behavior. Only if you
understood Francine very well would you be able to guess
what was happening inside her head as she sat there so
correctly and courteously. So
perfectly. Perfect even to her fingertips, which were
pale pink,
Hy looked at her own hands. She had forgotten
to scrub off the ocher paint from yesterday's work. No
amount of showering ever seemed to clean stuff from her
fingers. And suddenly she felt oppressed. There was
something artificial about this occasion, a feeling that had
not been present during the chess game.
"Yes," Gerald said, replying to Dad's question,
"Fm very sure. We had a neighbor who'd been
wounded during the Korean War. They had to rebuild
his face. It was fascinating to me, a marvel of
science and art, what they did. I knew almost at
once when I saw him that that was what I wanted to do
with my life."
He spoke precisely, as he did everything with
precision, whether slicing an apple, folding a
sweater, or as now, laying the knife at the top of the
plate, parallel to the edge of the table.
Dad inquired, "How long does it take to be
certified in plastic surgery?"
"Three years at least."
"So then," said Francine, "ydg
u
must be looking for a residency right now."
"Yes, I've sent out a good many applications."
"You will want a first-class teaching hospital." And
when Gerald nodded, she added, "There are none around
here. The local hospital would hardly do for you."
"That's true."
They were sparring over Hy's head. Of course
Fran-
cine is glad that he will have to leave here, she thought.
Why does he never talk to me about it? What is
behind this?
"At least they pay you fellows these days," Dad
said. "Years ago, interns and residents were
expected just to be grateful for the opportunity
to learn."
"They pay, but not very much, especially if a person
has debts."
"Ah, yes. You owe the university here for their
loan, Hy tells me."
"And I still owe for the care of my mother before she died."
"You're an ambitious young man. And responsible-
I take my hat off to you."
Hopeless, thought Hyacinth.
As if he had sensed her mood, Dad changed the
subject to the tulips. "So nice of you to have brought
these flowers. Makes you think spring can't be
far away."
Now Gerald addressed Francine. "They reminded
me of this yellow wallpaper. I always think this
room, and this whole house, belong in a magazine."
A desultory conversation passed across the table. Hy
barely heard it. A lump of cold fear lay in the
pit of her stomach.
"What do you say we go in and have a brandy?" suggested
Dad. "You can practically feel the wind chill
seep through the walls."
"You all go," Hy said. "I'll clear the table and
load the dishwasher."
He's going away, God knows where to, she thought.
Am I to wait three years? He will find somebody
else.
Gerald said promptly, "I'll help you." And
turning to Francine, "Don't worry, I know that
goblets don't go into the dishwasher. I'll be very
careful of them."
He was trying so hard to please! But why should he care
about Francine's opinion if things were coming to an end?
"No," Hy said, contradicting him, "I'll do it
myself. Go finish the chess game with Dad."
When she looked around from the sink, Francine was standing
in the doorway regarding her with a faintly
sad expression on her face.
"I'll do the goblets for you," she offered quickly.
"Eight goblets, water and wine for goodness' sake!
Why is everyone making such a stupid fuss about
them?" Hy blurted. And an instant later, aware
of her own brusque tone, she blurted again,
"Sorry. I guess I'm tired or something."
"Not tired. Worried," Francine said gently.
"I'm not at all worried. Why should I be?"
She was not going to open any space for the discussion that
her mother probably wanted.
"I don't know why you should or should not be worried,
Hyacinth. That's for you to tell me if you want to.
If you think I can help."
"Only if you have changed your opinion about him."
Part of her wanted to cry out: "I'm afraid. I
wish somebody-you or somebody-would tell me what
to do. I don't know whether I should ask him first, or
wait for him to ask me first. In there at the table
listening just now, he even seemed strange to me. I
don't know-was
"My opinion is still that Gerald is very charming and
intelligent. He speaks well. He tries
to please, and as I've said from the beginning-was
Jim shouted from the hall, "Francine, come
in here and invite Gerald to stay overnight. He
thinks it'll be too much trouble. But the road is a
sheet of ice. You'd have to be crazy to get into a car
in weather like this if you didn't have to."
"Of course. It's no trouble at all to have you stay.
We have plenty of room."
Gerald hesitated. "I've got work at home,
paperwork due Monday."
"You can leave here by noon tomorrow," Jim insisted. "The
roads will have started to melt by then. And you'll still have
plenty of time to do your work."
"You're very kind, but really, I've driven on ice
before-was
Hyacinth stood there, alone under the light in the center
of the hall, waiting. Why are you begging him to stay?
He doesn't want to. Can't you see that?
But Dad had decided. "Go on up, Hy, and show
him Paul's room."
They went upstairs. "You didn't want to stay,"
Hyacinth said, "and you shouldn't do it if you don't
want to."
"You're angry at me," Gerald said in some
surprise.
"Yes. Or no, not angry, but hurt. You had
all these plans that you were just describing, and
you've never said a word about anything to me."
"I was going to do it today, but I lost my nerve. I
didn't want to spoil the day."
"Spoil the day? What do you mean?"
"Sit down, and let me explain."
She sat down on the bed and stared at his moving
lips. He was about to say something that would shatter her.
She knew it. And she sat up tall, waiting.
"I wanted to tell you this when we were alone. I already
have a residency-two of them, as a matter of fact,
and both first rate. But unfortunately, they're both
in Texas."
"And why is that unfortunate?"
"Well, it-it's not exactly a cheap or easy
commute to Texas, is it?"
His words, which usually flowed easily, came
awkwardly. His smile was wan.
"Go on," she said.
Opening his arms wide and breaking into a lament, he
cried to her, "I've known about this for the last two
weeks, and Hy, I haven't dared to ask. Will you
wait for me? I've been so afraid of your
answer. But will you?"
Then the facts struck her. "You mean we can't see
each other for the next three years? What are
you saying? Why?"
Softly, he put his arms around her rigid shoulders
and replied, "One word explains it.
Money."
"But you said they pay you."
"You're forgetting that I also have debts."
"You can't mean this," she whispered.
"Darling, I do. I have to."
"You always tell me that a week away is too
long."
"And so it is."
"Yes," she whispered, "there must have been something in the
air tonight, some poisonous premonition.
When we were at the table, I looked at you once and
felt such pain! Do you understand? And I was angry,
angry at the world. I didn't know why. It was as
if somebody had died or gone away forever."
"Not forever," he protested.
"None of this makes sense. Other couples
manage. Do you think I'm going to stop working, for
heaven's sake?"
"It's not that simple. Unmarried, I get a
room at practically no charge. Married, I
don't."
"I never said anything to you about marriage,
did I?"
"Well, what else would we be doing?"
"Staying together. Being together."
"No. I'm not going out to any hospital like that. I
go either singly or with a proper wife, like everyone else
there. No halfway measure."
"So then this is a proposal?"
"Very definitely a proposal, with a proviso.
We'll have to wait."
She looked at him in dismay, in despair.
"Here," Gerald said, taking a notebook and pen from
his pocket. "Let me show you in dollars and cents
so you'll see what I'm talking about."
She watched his moving hand with its delicate blue
veins and fine oval nails, this hand that knew every
curve of her body. Her mind, in panic, was already
leaping ahead of his additions and subtractions. Dad,
she thought, he will help. He's not a rich man, but
he will.
"There has to be a way," she said. "I'll ask
my father."
"For money, you mean?"
"Of course."
"I can't do that. I can't ask for money from him, of
all people."
"I don't expect you to do the asking. It's only
natural for me to be the one. And why do you say,
"from him of all people?"
"I should think the answer is obvious. The
humiliation -"
"comw be mine, not yours."
"Well, I'll feel it. It's about me, after
all."
"You weren't humiliated when you accepted the money from
the medical school."
"There's no comparison. That was a loan."
"Then make this a loan. You can repay it when you
start your practice."
There was a long silence, until with great reluctance
Gerald responded, "I really don't like the
idea."
"But I like it."
He smiled. "So now I'm finding out why they say
you're stubborn."
She smiled back. "All of a sudden, I'm
feeling normal again, now that I know this has only
been about money. I thought-oh God, I thought you had
changed your mind about me."
He laughed. "You're crazy. You're really
crazy." Then seriously: "This whole
business may not be as easy as you seem to think it will
be. You can't have forgotten your mother's opinion of
me."
"That was months ago! Besides, if Dad wants to do
it for us, he'll do it, no matter."
There was another silence until Gerald broke it
again. "Well, ask then. I certainly can't."
Often that spring, Hyacinth thought how on some far day
she would look back on this time as old people do, as
Granny did, endlessly reminiscing about that season
of hopes fulfilled, when everything-kisses, tears,
champagne, good wishes, white dresses, and
flowered hats- all come into bloom.
"I'm very thankful that I can do this for you," Jim
declared on that night when it all happened. "It will
free your spirit, Gerald, to forge ahead with your work.
There's nothing like a too-thin wallet to distract a
man."
"So it is an established fact," Francine
observed. "Engagement, commencement, wedding, and off
to Texas?"
"Two weeks after graduation," Hyacinth said, now
flushed and pink with a joyful heat.
They were in the living room. The fire was low, and the
music, to which Jim had been listening when she
had come to interrupt him, was also low; the Verdi
Requiem
would be forever afterward linked to this event.
"I would like both of you to know," Gerald said at
once, "besides how grateful I am, more than I can
ever say, that I shall not be taking Hyacinth away from
you. She's told me how you miss your sons, so I
promise that after my training, we will come hack here and
we will stay. Doctors don't move around. I'm
going to remember," he added, this time speaking
directly to Francine, "or at least I'm going
to try to remember, not to call Hyacinth 'Hy."
She tells me you hate it."
"That's all right, Gerald. You must call her
whatever she wants. I'm really not such an ogre,
you know."
Her smile this time was gracious, and her embrace
warm. What she was thinking, Hyacinth could not
imagine. Certainly she could not have been taken too
much by surprise. And too, very probably, she had
changed her mind about Gerald. At the very least, she
must see how he was trying to please.
These last weeks of the term before commencement, when his
calendar was nearly empty, might have been
purposely arranged to let him fit himself
into the life of the house. The spring was exceptional, a
long stretch of cool, green weather after a hard
winter.
Jim was establishing a new perennial border on the
shady side of the house. Together he and Gerald
searched through gardening manuals for flowers that would
thrive there, bought seedlings from the nursery, and worked
outdoors together through the lengthening evenings until dark.
Rarely had any of Jim's sons given him quite as
much time and attention as Gerald did. They painted the
lawn chairs, went fishing, shopped for a new
barbecue grill, and set it up.
A lovely peace filled the air. At the turn
of the road lay a stretch of woods whose owner had no
objections to innocent users of his land; here Hyacinth
and Gerald took long walks, sat on a log, and
held long, searching conversations in a silence and
serenity that were an astonishment to him. It seemed to her
that they were growing even closer now, and in a new way.
At Granny's house one night, they let themselves
be deliciously overfed. Afterward they were regaled with
tales of the old days, when the town was surrounded
by grand estates, with their prize cattle and private
railroad cars; of the chauffeured Pierce Arrows
on the shopping street; of the band playing
"Over There" in 1917. Before they left, Granny
brought forth gifts knitted by herself: two sweaters,
one for each, a matching dark blue pair. Hyacinth
had felt uneasily that Gerald might be bored, for
Granny could sometimes talk too much and for too long
about things that interested her but might well be of no
interest to anybody else. But no, he had found her
"most delightful, a dear old lady, a character."
Everything was organized by May. On a glorious
morning in perfect sunshine and with stately tradition,
from "Pomp and Circumstance" to the prideful
presentation of diplomas, Hyacinth through shining eyes
saw Gerald receive his degree: doctor of
medicine. Afterward at home he was introduced to all
the obligatory relatives and friends. Later in the
evening he was even shown off to Martha the Nemesis
and the rest of the "in crowd." Seemingly by accident,
Hyacinth had strolled with him past her house. They
all made introductions; Hy, observing Martha's
mild but undeniable surprise, embarrassed herself
by her inner conflict between a sense of triumph and a
sense of her own foolishness for giving a damn what
other people thought.
Preparations for a small wedding ceremony in the garden
were then in order. The brothers bought their
plane tickets. Hyacinth selected the wedding
dress, while she and Francine ordered the engraved
invitations. A few gifts had already arrived, and
thank-you notes were sent. The journey to Texas had
been carefully mapped.
It was Dad who suggested, who in fact insisted, upon
the party after the ceremony. "It's all right not to have a
crowd at the service, if that's how you feel,
Hyacinth, but you'll regret it if you don't have some
celebration afterward. And besides, after living in this
neighborhood, going to school here all your life,
it's unfriendly not to include people. What do you say,
Francine?"
Surely one would have expected her to be the party
instigator. Still, she was promptly agreeable. She
had been nothing but agreeable, if perhaps a trifle
quiet-or was that Hyacinth's imagination?-since the
snowy night on which Jim had opened his heart and his
pocketbook to Gerald.
"Well, you know how I love a party," she
replied. "Hyacinth, you must give me all your
ideas about the decorations and the menu and the guests. I
need to get busy right away."
Often as the wedding day drew near, Hyacinth came
to the brink of asking Francine what she
really thought about Gerald, now that he had become such
a familiar in the house. But each time she drew
back; Francine never brought up the subject,
almost surely because she had changed her mind about
him-how could she not have changed it?-and was ashamed
to remember her original mistake. It was far
better to forget the bad beginning.
Hyacinth was feeling the sweetness of life.
They had been dancing all afternoon, whirling to the music
of a very good five-piece band. A floor had been
laid on the iawn, and an awning prepared in case
of rain, which, happy to say, was nowhere in sight.
AH around stood a scalloping border of small
tables, each with its starched white petticoat and
taffeta bows. At one of them now sat the family,
momentarily at rest and watching the dancers.
Jim was "in his element," to use one of his own
frequent expressions. He used it now.
"Watch that Gerald swing. He's in his element. And
watch Hy keeping right up with him. I never knew
she was that fine a dancer."
Francine was pensive. still
suppose there must be much more that we never knew about
her,
she thought.
"Quiet little baby sister," George said. "The
first one in her class to get married! I would never have
predicted it. He's quite a guy, too. Very
impressive. And let me tell
you, I meet a lot of impressive guys in the
global banking business."
Granny agreed. "Yes, isn't he a charmer?
I fell in love with him myself the first time I saw
him. As I told Hyacinth once, marriage is
a very, very serious business. But this one is going to be
splendid. She's going to be so happy. I see
it. I feel it in my bones. How about you,
Francine?"
Of course Hyacinth has told her what I said
about him that time, Francine thought, and now she wants
to pin me down to a yes or a no. It will surprise
her to hear that I am moving toward a yes. At the
least, I haven't found anything to criticize in him
during all these past months.
"Yes, I do think so," she said.
She prayed and she hoped, hoping that she had not done
too much damage in misjudging this man whom
Hyacinth so adored. She prayed that the memory of
her drastic words might fade completely away.
There in the bright afternoon, Francine grew
solemn. How easy it had been to rear those three
young men now whirling on the floor! Never had she
been baffled by any one of them. But Hyacinth? I
suppose I annoyed her a good deal, she
reflected. I know I did. She worried me, and
we bickered far more than we should have done. But I
only wanted her to be happier, and livelier. I
only wanted her to be something she couldn't be!
"Look at her," Jim said. "She's opened up like
a rose."
Francine's eyes were already following her daughter.
Her head was flung back in laughter, her short
veil was
floating, and her feet were flying. She was dancing with a
fellow who worked at the museum. Friends there had sent
an original and pleasing wedding gift, a set of
photographs, most beautifully framed, of the
Shackleton expedition to the South Pole.
Hyacinth had her own kind of friends.
When Gerald cut in, Hyacinth stood up on her
toes to reach him and kissed him on the mouth. And again
her feet flew. Her veil floated, and she was
radiant with love. She had indeed opened up like a
rose, as Jim had just said.
He, too, was beaming with happiness. "A
perfect party, darling, my efficient wife.
Perfect as always. I'd love to catch you once
forgetting some little thing. Just one thing, once."
"Well, you've caught me now. The decanters are
close to empty. I'll run in and make sure
I've remembered to tell the waiters there's more wine
in the garage."
When Francine returned, she brought a message
for Granny. "The cooks want to know where I bought
the cookies and what they cost. They're interested."
Granny laughed. "Oh Lord, those are my old
spice cookies. They're an eighteenth-century
recipe from a Williamsburg cookbook, or
maybe it was New Orleans. I don't even
remember."
"Well, there are hardly any left, and you must have
made two hundred at least. But Jim, didn't
Gerald say they want to start by six o'clock? Then they
should be changing now-where is Gerald? I don't see
him."
"He went inside a while ago," Granny said.
"Too much wine, maybe. Too much excitement."
"Well, I'll go ask him what he wants. The
band is flexible. They'll stay or quit, whatever
we like."
The house, except for the busy kitchen, was otherwise
silent as Francine walked through it. Then she thought
she heard voices above, coming from Hyacinth's little
studio at the top of the stairs. And she went up,
calling, "Is that you, Gerald?"
"Yes, here I am. I've been showing
Hy's-Hyacinth's work to her friend, Martha."
A dart of anger struck right to Francine's heart.
What was the meaning of this? As Francine entered the
studio, Martha had a vivid white smile for her,
and Francine had to look twice to recognize her.
She had been working and living in New York; her
light hair was now blond, expensively so, with
gleam and without roots.
Martha exclaimed, "All these years we've known
each other, and I never had any idea that Hy was so
talented! This one of her father-it's absolutely
superb! And the still life, the fruit, is perfect."
"It's sold," Gerald said. "One of her friends at
the museum is buying it. And her grandmother is buying
the watercolor of this house to give George on his
birthday."
"I never, never knew! But Hy is so modest.
She always was, all through school and college, so
modest."
"That she is," Gerald said.
"Well, she's an artist. They're not like other people,
are they?"
Francine was scolding herself: Don't be an
idiot. What on earth do you think they were doing up
here, arranging a rendezvous? Still, it doesn't
look right, walk
ing away from the party together. They both should know
better.
That girl does know better. She feels her power
over men and loves to use it, even as casually as this.
Oh, didn't I know? But once I had Jim,
I never used it, and there's the difference.
"I adore this snow scene," said Martha. She was
taking her time to comment on the pictures, thus
to emphasize the earnest purpose of this visit to the
studio. "You can really feel the cold, can't you?"
Thoughts that Francine had long stifled now rose like
an emergent weed that has, despite much effort, not
been eradicated after all. Wasn't it a French
philosopher who had written, or was it simply a
folk saying, about "the one who loves and the other who
is loved"? Hyacinth loves. Hyacinth gives
her heart and soul, without guile, because she has no
guile. Blunt-spoken and honest, she is
one of nature's innocents. Of "street smarts"
she has none.
And standing there at the window, Francine gazed down
at the happy, noisy party below. All of a sudden it
was a throng of agitated bees buzzing around one
another.
Morbid thought! Is that what it's all about,
struggling to get on top? .. .of course he knew
Jim would come up with the money.. .. He played it
well.
Gerald spoke to her. "You were calling me?"
"Yes. I remembered that you and Hyacinth plan
to start at six, and I wanted to remind you."
"Thanks. I was coming right down." He turned
to Martha. "Look at Francine. Isn't she
beautiful?"
"Absolutely beautiful. And she doesn't grow
older, either."
Putting his arms around Francine, Gerald kissed
her cheek. She had always observed his expressive
eyes. At this moment they were gentle and deep with
empathy.
"You're worried. Your last baby's leaving, and of
course you're feeling sad. But please try not to be
too sad. I promise to make her very, very
happy."
How do I know he will not? I have no right to revive
niy morbid thoughts. I am looking for trouble, I
must be careful to guide and guard the way I think.
"I'm sure you will," she said.
The red car, its trunk filled with new luggage,
stood ready in the driveway while the farewell
crowd waited for the bride and groom to appear.
Francine and Jim, in the forefront, were feeling the
moment of departure, the departure of the last child, just as
Gerald had said. From behind came voices,
"Didn't Hyacinth look lovely? And so happy
that she sparkled."
"What about him? Isn't he something to look at,
too?"
"Are they going straight through to Texas?"
"No, they're going to tour for a couple of weeks before
he starts work, the Grand Canyon, the Tetons, the
big sights. He's never been west, but she has."
"She's been everywhere, or almost."
Yes, we did what we could to feed that curious bright
mind, thought Francine. And not a scrap of all we
gave was ever wasted on her, stubborn little creature
that she was-
"Mom," said Hyacinth.
She was dressed for travel in jeans and a thick
sweater; a chill wind had risen. No proper
going-away suit for Hyacinth!
"Mom, I want to whisper something, please.
Listen. I'm so thankful that you and Gerald ... no
daughter could ask for a better mother than you've been.
Forget any stupid thing I ever said to you or about you.
Please. This is the most perfect wedding anybody
could dream of. Oh, you know what I want to say.
I'm feeling teary, so I have to stop."
"Darling, I'm feeling teary, too. Be well,
both of you. What is that old Irish saying? May
the road-was
"May the road rise up to meet you," said Jim,
"and may the wind be always at your back."
"Here we go!" cried Gerald, holding the door for
Hyacinth. "Climb in."
"Into my lucky car. Only, today it's not raining."
He took the wheel, they both waved, and a few
seconds later the lucky red car was gone.
Coming home sometimes in the late afternoon, Gerald would
pause in the doorway, shake his head, and speak in
wondet. "I never thought my life could turn out like
this."
"Neither did I," said Hyacinth.
She was feeling like a queen in her domain. The
apartment had been fitted out with every possible comfort and
convenience. The furniture, solid and simple, was
made to last through a lifetime and beyond, for Francine and
Jim, who had provided the wherewithal for it, believed
that quality in the long run was economy, not to mention
the fact that it gave great pleasure.
The shelves were already crammed with books and music;
the rooms were decorated with flowery fabrics and a
lacquered screen that George had sent from
Singapore; and the ice-blue kitchen, freshly
painted, was tidy with its rack of copper-bottomed
pots. Then came the most precious bedroom,
yellow as a daffodil and soft
underfoot, where one of Granny's largest, best, and
oldest hooked rugs had followed them to Texas.
From every window they looked out at another view. From the
little kitchen, the end window faced the wide, flat
earth of Texas, an empty vista on which in the far
distance there rose an unexpected cluster of
skyscrapers, some of them completed and some still but a
framework of steel beams. The side window, when
open, brought in a breeze from the grove of
cottonwood trees across the street. The bedroom
windows lay above some young persimmons that, so
Hyacinth had been told, would in the fall turn from
glossy green to yellow; at the moment they were merely
dusty and drooping in the hundred- degree heat. The
front room looked out upon the teeming highway that every
morning took them past gated communities of lavish
houses behind lavish stone walls, past lavish
malls into the heart of the city, where Gerald worked at
a hospital and Hyacinth worked at a small art
gallery nearby.
There had been no opportunities at the area's
museum. With rueful amusement, she had reported
to Gerald that its tiny amount of restoration work was always
sent to the museum at home! So the next best
choice for her was the gallery. It was interesting enough,
and the hours left time for her to do some watercolors and
sketches on the kitchen table, where she was usually at
work when Gerald came home.
Never had she known him to be as exuberant, in such
high glad spirits, as he now was. Absorbed in the
life of the hospital, he was in awe of a surgeon
who could rebuild the face of a child born with half a
nose, or restore
an arm that had been mangled in a machine. Half
laughing at himself, he was in awe of his own certainty
that he, too, would learn to perform these
miracles.
For such a man, after a day of tense concentration, the
quietness of home must be precious. Hyacinth was
touched by his appreciation of small things, the good
supper as well as the pretty table at which they ate
it. He remarked the flavor of freshly brewed
coffee and the pattern on the cup, too. He
praised her for every attention she gave him.
One night he looked up from the text he was studying
and said abruptly, "Fm feeling the permanence."
"What did you say you're feeling?" she asked.
"The permanence. I've never lived more than two
years in any one place, and not often as long as that."
Hyacinth had also been reading, but his words and his soft
expression moved her to rise and put her arms around
him. "We're permanent," she said.
"I was thinking about your mother today, about how far she's come
from her first impression of me. Now I feel that I
have a friend in her. And you should be having very tender thoughts
about her, too."
"I have tender thoughts about everyone." Hyacinth spoke
solemnly. "I wish that everybody could have what we
have. Maybe it sounds nai've, but honestly, I
sometimes feel as if I loved the whole world."
She was hardly so naive as to believe that
"loving the whole world" was anything other than an
epiphany that would appear, rarely, and disappear, as
moods do. She
was also not naive enough to believe that the first glory of the
honeymoon could remain unmarred.
You were bound to discover that you had not, after all, known
everything there was to know about each other. Considering the
dozens and dozens of habits, memories, and
tastes that constitute a personality, how on earth
could any human being expect to find his duplicate
in another one?
For instance: There was the time when she had wanted to see
an opening exhibit at the museum, and Gerald had
refused to go with her.
"It's only a half-hour drive," she had
argued, "and those paintings are on loan from the National
Gallery. You don't want to miss it, do you?"
"To tell the truth, I do. I really couldn't care
less about paintings, Hy." He had looked
sheepish. "I just pretended I cared." Continuing, as
he saw how startled she appeared, he said, "You should
be flattered. It was only my way of getting to you."
For instance: When she was cooking, and she did seem
to be doing a good deal of cooking, she liked to listen
to music on the kitchen radio. One day,
catching his grimace when he came home, she asked
him what was wrong.
"It sounds like a lot of loud noise to me."
She answered mildly, "It's beautiful. It's
Mozart."
"I suppose you come by it rightfully. Your father was always
listening to that stuff."
"I guess I do, but I'll turn it off when
you're home."
Standing there with a spatula in her hand, her feelings
were mixed. In one sense, she was a very little bit
annoyed, while in another, she knew she had no
right to be. For this was his house, too, and if this kind of
music annoyed him, he should not have to hear it, should
he?
Well then, they had different likes and dislikes, that
was all. The only surprising thing was that he had
concealed his for so long. But marriage, at least now
at the start, was bound to reveal a series of
surprises, until through long years two people finally
grow together- or, she told herself more realistically,
almost
grow together.
Secluded honeymoons cannot last indefinitely,
either. Living as Gerald did in the heart of a
great, busy hospital, he had made many friends.
Hyacinth had had no idea how sociable he was.
Gradually, their apartment became a Saturday night
gathering place. Plainly, she saw that he had already
won a position of leadership in the group; his mind was
respected and his personality was alluring. In a
subtle way, it had expanded before her eyes.
Recognizing his enormous pleasure in all this, she
was touched. Their apartment was his pride, for most of the
other young couples were, as they themselves described it,
"camping out," and also "eating out." Here, on the other
hand, was fullness of color and comfort, along with
appetizing refreshment.
"They never get food like yours," Gerald said.
"Well, you can thank Granny. She taught me."
Hy, too, took pride in being the hostess at these
lively evenings. Yet after a while, she began
to wish that there were not quite so many of them, or that she could
take
more of a real part in them. For the conversation rarely moved
away from things medical, veering from serious subjects
to simple gossip about somebody who happened to be
absent. Most often, then, she found herself a silent
observer, a listener and watcher, following the
interplay of temperaments, a rivalry between
two men or an incipient attraction between a man
and a woman.
"You're curious about the world, aren't you?" Gerald
had once remarked. "You notice everything. Thinking,
thinking, all the time, trying to figure it all out,
aren't you?"
Yes, that was true. She did notice things, and very
carefully, too. As the seasons progressed through
fall and their first winter, she formed opinions about every
one of these frequent visitors. And since it was her
nature to like most people, or at least to dislike very few,
she had taken a dislike only to one, a doctor
named Elizabeth and called Bettinar-She was not a
classic beauty, but she was startling, and she knew
it. She could not help but know it, and that she was no
favorite among women. It was only to be
expected.
At their very first meeting she greeted Hy with this
remark: "So you're the wife of that beautiful man!
You should have heard the nurses the day he walked in!
He's going to have a fabulous practice, oh yes!
He has irresistible charm, along with his brains."
Charm, indeed. Before their marriage, Hy had never
seen Gerald as a member of any group, and so it was
a new experience to hear these tones of voice
and see these facial expressions. He had a
different laugh recently, an infectious chuckle,
and in his eyes a new, mischievous,
knowing twinkle, as if his beholder and he had a
secret between them.
Then on an effervescent evening not long afterward, Hy
heard a woman's voice at her ear: "You're very
patient. Patient and tolerant."
Startled, Hy followed her glance to where Gerald and
Bettina were standing and had long been standing together in the
hall.
"But I suppose you're not really bothered.
Bettina will never leave that fat husband of hers, or
even risk any real fun on the side. He's
positively loaded, and she loves the life he
gives her."
Hy, feeling a furious flush mount to her cheek,
answered stiffly, "I'm not sure what you mean
by patience and tolerance."
The other woman, an occasional member of the group,
gave a casual shrug. "Just sitting there and letting
him humiliate you is what I meant."
The woman had had too much to drink, and Hyacinth
walked away. "I do not feel humiliated," she
said, wishing that the whole lot of them would go
home.
She was confused. Was it a humiliation? Was she being a
prig, a foolish prude? Was she having a
rebirth of the old "Martha" syndrome? If so,
she must put an end to it. ...
Much later, after Hyacinth had brushed her teeth and
readied herself for bed, the incident still rankled.
Dressed in transparent violet silk, a
typical gift from Francine, she went to the
full-length mirror, lifted the gown, and examined
herself. Her body was slender, yet well curved;
her face was pleasing enough, but she was undistin-
guished. When she appeared, heads did not turn as
they turned toward Dr. Bettina.
Gerald stepped through the door and laughed. "What are
you doing, posing there? Satisfied with yourself, I
hope?"
"That's not the question. Are you satisfied with me? That's
the question."
"Hey, what's your problem, Hy?"
"I'm comparing myself with-with that woman Bettina."
"Oh, for God's sake!"
"We need to be honest with each other."
"I thought we always were honest."
"Oh," she cried, "jealousy is so-so
low backslash
It humbles me."
His eyes darkened, met hers, and held the look.
This look of his, earnest, beseeching, and a little sad,
she recognized.
"Darling Hyacinth, I'm sorry if I've hurt
you, but you're being very, very silly. As if anybody
could measure you against a total zero, a
clotheshorse, a cheap flirt! Come on to bed.
Don't be an idiot. Come on, or I'll drag
you in. It's going on one o'clock."
For long minutes she lay with her face buried in his
shoulder, in the beloved flesh, while he murmured
into her hair.
"Dear Hy, so sweet, so smart, and such a fool.
An innocent. Isn't that what Francine calls
you?"
She was filled with yearning. Her heart, her throat,
her whole body wanted to blend with his, to become
one with him.
"I would die for you," she whispered.
"No, no, don't say that."
"Yes, I would. Do you remember that woman on the
Titanic"?
Straus was her name, Mrs. Straus. They
wanted to put her in a lifeboat, but she wouldn't
go. She wanted to die with her husband. I would have
done that, too."
"And I would have pushed you into the lifeboat. So that's
enough of that talk. You know what you and I need?" His
hands, warm and strong, pulled at the silk gown.
"Take this fool thing off, will you?"
It was a mild afternoon in their second fall, so
different from the chill, brisk weather of
Massachusetts, that Hyacinth, talking on the
telephone to a friend at home, had needed to remark as
usual on the difference. "They call it cool
weather. It's down to eighty. Can you imagine? And
football has started very, very seriously. The
rivalries are like France against Germany in a world
war. But it's all such fun. People are so informal here,
so friendly, even in a big city. Oh, and I've
learned all the words to "The Yellow Rose of
Texas!"
In this mood of well-being, she entered a doctor's
office; half an hour later she left it,
overwhelmed by surprise and wearing an
uncontrollable smile.
"No method is a hundred percent reliable," the
doctor had said. He, too, was smiling.
"June is a good month to have a baby, before the worst
of the heat, if we're lucky."
Obstetrics, she thought, must be for the most pan a
happy specialty. She seemed to be walking on
springs, bouncing with every step. Bubbles in her chest
popped in effervescence, like a champagne cork and the
laughter that comes with it.
It was only four o'clock, which left two hours to contain
her excitement until Gerald would be home. She
wanted to sing, or stop some passerby, anyone at
all, to tell the amazing news. One would think that
civilization must come to a halt because of this baby. They
had not planned to start a family until Gerald's
stint at the hospital was over, and now this! But never
mind; this baby was simply in a hurry to see the
world. And she walked on, observing babies in
carriages and strollers as she had never done before.
She had to buy something, had to commemorate this day. So
she went on a spree, and when she returned to the
parking lot, her arms were full of her purchases: a
gigantic stuffed panda, a bouquet of asters, a
bottle of real champagne, and a little cake.
Once home, she remembered that tomorrow her parents were
coming. They were on the second leg of their visits
to their sons and grandchildren. Next year at this
time, they would have another grandchild to visit. We should
get a better camera. This cake is too small.
How could she have forgotten about tomorrow? In the morning she
must run out and get another cake. Or maybe
bake one if there was time. Home baking was always
better, more welcoming. And another bottle of
champagne. Hurried, disconnected thoughts like these
went
rushing through her head, while she set out the plates for
supper and arranged the asters.
"What's this?" asked Gerald at sight of the panda,
which was occupying a corner of the sofa.
"Guess?"
"Another baby in your brother's family?"
"Well, not exactly. Not in his immediate family."
And she began to laugh.
He stared at her. "What are you talking about?"
She was enjoying the suspense. "I saw Dr.
Lilly today."
"Lilly? Ob-gyn?"
"Of course. Oh darling, it's to be in June! I
wasn't sure enough about it to tell you without first hearing it
from him. But it's true."
Gerald took off his jacket and laid it
precisely as always, without causing a
wrinkle, across the back of a chair. For a moment he
said nothing.
"Are you so absolutely stunned that you can't talk?
You remind me of those funny old movies where the
wife breaks the news and the husband faints, and-?"
"Stunned? I guess I am. This isn't
exactly the most convenient time, is it?"
His face! His lips drew a thin, mean line between his
cheeks. She could not take her eyes away from it.
"Are you sure?" he demanded. "Was Louie
positive?"
"That's a funny question. Of course he was."
AH her strength was flowing out below her knees. They
shook, and she sat down at the table, still clutching the
asters.
"I don't understand," she said. "I thought you would be so
glad!"
"Well, I'm not. Not here and now. Be sensible,
Hy. The timing couldn't be more inconvenient. I've
got almost two more years before I finish here. This
apartment is too small for a crib, a carriage,
wet diapers, and-for God's sake, let's do
something about it and wait till the right time, as we
planned. For God's sake, please."
Her heart was pounding so fiercely that she could
hardly speak. was 'Do something?"' What can you
possibly mean?"
"Don't talk like an ignoramus, will you? This
innocence of yours gets to be a little too much sometimes,
a little too cute, Hy. What do you think I
mean?"
She had such a queer feeling of unreality!
Is this happening?
she thought.
I don't know how it can be happening, these words coming from
his mouth.
He of all the people in this world. He.
M
An abortion," she whispered. "You're asking me
to do that."
"It's only the timing, don't you see? It's all
wrong, it doesn't fit. We can have kids later.
Be reasonable, Hy, instead of sentimental."
"Sentimental?" she repeated. "My baby-our
baby. And you don't want it. And I'm
sentimental?"
She burst into tears and, jumping up, slammed so
hard against the table that the champagne bottle fell and
shattered on the floor.
"Watch out! Don't step on the broken
glass," he shouted.
"What the hell do you care about broken glass? You
don't love me! If you did, you would love our
child, too. You wouldn't ask me to kill it. We're
young, we're healthy, we're not starving, we're not in
a concentration camp! An abortion-my God, you should
be ashamed! How can you-was
Gerald closed the window with a bang. "Temper!
Temper again. The whole neighborhood doesn't have
to hear this."
"I don't give a damn whether it does or not!
Let everybody know that my heart's breaking, that
you're breaking it. Let the whole world know what you
are."
"Wait a minute, calm down, Hy. There's no
sense-was
But she had already run to the bedroom. The door
crashed and the wall shook. Weeping and shaking, she
dropped onto the bed; then suddenly queasy, she
ran to the bathroom to be sick. When she went back
to the bed, she lay in a fog, in despair, as if
her very heart had collapsed.
Hours later, when she awoke, the room was dark.
She was still dressed in her sweater set, and Gerald
was asleep at the farthest reach of the enormous
bed. For a few moments, she stood there looking down
at him. So you marry in total trust, and then one
day, in one minute, the total trust is breached and
what you're left with is only bitter, bitter
anger. Quietly she went out and undressed in the
bathroom. Her eyes were slits between swollen lids
and pale, puffed cheeks. Her face was hideous.
If only there were some way of calling Francine and
Dad not to come tomorrow! But how, and with what excuse? It
was impossible.
But no, nothing was really impossible. She spoke
aloud to herself: "Nothing. It's simply a situation
that has to be met. Somehow."
"A washcloth soaked in ice water will help,"
Gerald said.
He was standing in the doorway. Perhaps her slight
fumbling had awakened him, or perhaps he had only
pretended to be asleep.
"I'll tell you what will help. My return to the
place from which you so joyfully took me. What is that
poem of Robert Frost's? "Home is where, when
you have to go there, they have to take you in. But it will only
be temporary. I can manage alone. I and my
baby can manage. We don't need you."
"What time does their flight get in tomorrow?"
he asked, ignoring her words.
"Ten-fifteen. Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters. You can't go looking like this,
and you can't let them stand there waiting."
"It's not your problem. They're my parents, and
I'll go for them."
"That's ridiculous. I left the morning free for
their visit."
"Oh, you care so much about them, don't you?"
"I want to give you another hour and a half to get
your face back to normal before they see you."
"What are you saying? That you think this horror can be
kept secret?"
"To begin with, it isn't a horror. It's a thing that
can be discussed with reason if you'll only try. But
we don't
have to greet them with it the minute they set foot at the
door. That's all I'm saying."
"Don't lecture me. I hate that harsh voice.
If it weren't for the baby that's growing in me, I'd
want to die tonight, or murder you."
"Hyacinth, will you listen to me? And for God's sake,
for the thousandth time, will you throw the goddamn cigarette
away? I'm sick of seeing it."
"Then don't look at it. Let me
alone. I don't know you. I don't want to know
you."
There was no other place to sleep than in the bed. The
night had turned chilly and, shivering from dampness and
tension, she lay long with open eyes, watching light
flare in and out as clouds moved over the moon.
Whether he slept or not, she neither knew nor
cared.
Yesterday's asters, retrieved from the floor, were on
the table. On either side of them stood the crystal
candlesticks that Jim and Francine had just brought.
Hyacinth had made her father's old favorite
chicken-and-shrimp dish. She had iced the
celebratory champagne, and Gerald had poured
it. Francine had reported on all the brothers and
their children; in her scarlet blouse and her pearls, she
glowed. She never has any trouble, Hy thought. It
was all very familiar, all very cozy. Or to be
accurate, it would have been so, if she had not still been
wavering between telling them now or waiting to write or
telephone them later, after they were home.
Conversation ranged from their grandchildren who, like most
grandchildren, were extraordinary, to George's
transfer back home from Singapore, to Paul's
new house. Jim did most of the talking.
Francine, unusually quiet, seemed to be
glancing more often than necessary at Hyacinth.
"We were thinking," Jim said, "only beginning to think
that our house is getting too large and empty for us.
Of course, I love my garden. We both do. But
if we could find a smaller house with the same
outdoor space, and if maybe you folks when you come
back east were interested in our house, we might do
something about giving it to you."
"It's a beautiful house," Gerald exclaimed.
"An incredible gift!"
"It's far too early to talk about it now."
Francine's intervention was pleasant and
practical.
"Well, of course," Gerald said. "Right now
I'm in another world." And he launched into an account
of his daily routine, which appeared to interest them. He
spoke in his usual vivid fashion.
"It was a totally unnecessary accident-no seat belts.
He went through the windshield on the passenger side,
I can't begin to describe his face. Can you
imagine, a whole life psychologically
transformed after that? A young man with everything to live
for? You can believe I was shaking in my shoes when
Grump-that's Malcolm Grumboldt,
chief of the service-told me to take over. Of
course he was right at my elbow, and he would have
stopped me in a second if I'd been doing
anything wrong. But thank God, it went well."
"Don't know how you do it," said Jim, admiring his
son-in-law. "When was this?"
"Yesterday afternoon." Gerald smiled. "My nerves
were still twitching, even when I got home."
And that, thought Hyacinth, is for my benefit. Shall I
say it now?
Francine was still examining her. "Is there anything
wrong with your eyes? They look awfully tired or
swollen or something."
No,
not now.
"I seem to have developed an allergy. It's
nothing much, just comes and goes."
"Oh, tell them," Gerald intervened, as if he were
coaxing. "All right then, if you won't, I will.
Hyacinth is pregnant and hasn't been feeling
one hundred percent."
Her startled stare asked him what trick this might
be. And then came the gasps of delight.
"Darling!" cried Francine. "Why didn't you
say anything? Why, that's marvelous!"
Gerald said, "You women, so they tell me, like
to keep it secret until you're sure everything's
all right."
Then came that dreadful, uncontrollable flush again.
It burned its way up Hyacinth's neck. What
did he mean by this? She waited for him to go on with an
account of their quarrel, their fight, their break. But
he did not.
Jim, rising to kiss her on the forehead, became
emotional. "There's something about a daughter's having
a baby that's different somehow, although it shouldn't be,
I guess. Oh, your grandmother will be so pleased to be
a "great" again."
Francine, having kissed Hy, remembered to kiss
Gerald, too. "Lucky baby," she told him.
"Not everyone's child these days has such good parents.
Now, Hyacinth,
will you let me buy the layette? I love to shop for
baby things."
She loves to shop, period. What am I
supposed to say now?
Hy sat there in dismay.
"Now you'll really have to stop smoking," Francine
said. Her smile was loving. It had been a long time
since she had, even casually, criticized
anything about her daughter, her hair or makeup or
smoking. And Hyacinth understood that that had been because
she was so pleased, so grateful that the marriage had
turned out to be wonderful after all.
Gently, sick at heart, she replied, "Of
course I will. I threw away every cigarette in the
house the moment I knew. I intend to take good
care of this baby," she added, with a straight look at
Gerald.
Then there were questions about finding another apartment, about
getting a larger car to replace the little red one, and
whether to buy or lease it-an hour's worth of kind
and loving questions.
"We have a long time to wait," Gerald said at
last, "although Hyacinth has already made some
preparations. Where's the panda? Go get it,
Hyacinth."
So she had to bring out the clumsy thing that that morning she
had stuffed away on the top shelf in the hall
closet. Humming and singing the "Blue Danube"
waltz, Jim circled the room with the panda, and
everyone except Hyacinth laughed, everyone except
Hyacinth had more champagne, and everyone said what a
wonderful day this was, until it became time to take
the parents back to their hotel for the night.
"Come ride along, Hy. We're flying home
early in the
morning, and we won't be seeing you for a while,"
Jim urged.
But Francine contradicted him. "Let Hyacinth
stay here. I think she's tired."
"I am, a little." I'm not tired, Hy thought.
I'm torn to pieces, that's all.
She was putting the cream cake into the refrigerator
when Francine followed her with a question.
"Are you all right, Hyacinth?"
"Why, yes. Yes, I'm all right."
There, as always whenever Francine was resolute, were the
two vertical lines between her eyes. No,
not now. Write to them.
"You and Gerald-you get along well together, don't
you?"
It was a mother's prerogative to ask, wasn't it?
And some sort of answer was required, wasn't it?
"Oh, we have our little spats," she admitted.
Francine was judging her. For a moment she seemed
to hesitate. Then cheerfully, she agreed. "Little
spats. Yes, it would be pretty queer if one
didn't."
Hy was in bed when Gerald came back and
stood in the doorway.
"What was the meaning of that talk at the table?" she
asked as she sat up.
"That I had been thinking things over and realized that I
was terribly wrong. I'm ashamed, and I'm here
to apologize."
"Yes? What changed your mind so suddenly?"
"It's not sudden. It was my first response yesterday
that was sudden. There wasn't any thinking behind it, no
thinking at all. I'd had a hard day, as you heard.
I was tired, which is no excuse. I couldn't
possibly, now that I think about it, couldn't
possibly have meant what I said. That's why I'm
apologizing."
He looked as if he were in pain. Everything was all
mixed up. Her eyes began to fill, and she
didn't want
that
business all over again. Angrily she wiped them
with the back of her hand.
"I've made you suffer," he said.
"That's true." When he moved toward her, she put
up her hand. "No, not yet. Do you really want this
baby? Because if you don't, you know, I'm going to have
it anyway. Without you."
"I'm ashamed," he repeated. "Hy, please.
Please understand. I beg you. I panicked. I was
thinking about time and money and everything. But now, yes,
I do want it. All the way back from the hotel just
now, I've been thinking how we'll manage it.
There's space enough in this room for a crib.
He-she-won't be much more than a year old when we
leave here, and then we'll have plenty of room. The
carriage can go in the hall. It'll be a tight
fit, but that's not important. Oh Hyacinth,
forgive and forget! Please, darling, you can forgive it
and forget it. You know you can."
Given time, thought Hyacinth, a cut heals. The
injury that first bleeds red becomes a white scar and
ends as a faint indentation in the flesh.
Her boy was born with no trouble at all before the
dawn of a fine June morning. After a welcome
sleep, she
awoke to feel noon; the sun glittered and the
public golf course in the park across the road was
already filled. People dressed in primary colors were
dots on the green as in a Brueghel landscape,
she thought with pleasure. Close to her window, a
locust tree was dripping a rain of creamy
blossoms. And in the nursery down the
hall slept a husky baby with a crown of black
hair.
"A handsome boy," the nurse said when she brought him
into Hy's room. "He looks like his father already."
"Gerald, Junior," said the father. "We'll
simply call him Jerry, with a T. J. so there'll
be no confusion."
The name was not Hyacinth's choice, but as she of all
people had to remind herself, what's in a name? The
important thing was that Gerald was already rejoicing in his
son. He was jubilant.
"Look at him! Look at the long legs! And
what a pair of shoulders. A beautiful head,
too, for a newborn. You can see the bone structure
even now."
As Hyacinth fed the baby, Gerald sat there
watching the process while shaking his head as if in
disbelief.
"Mother and child. What a picture. The most common
sight in the world, yet always new, always a miracle.
Well, I hope life will be good to him. Your
parents were thrilled, weren't they?"
"Oh, yes. Francine had been wanting a boy,
after all my brothers' daughters."
"I think I've got some real news for
you, Hy. Grump-excuse me, I guess I
really should say Dr. Grumboldt-knows we plan
to go back east, so he gave me a contact that might
be just the thing. He's a tremendously successful
man who did a residency here ten or
twelve years ago. He's got a crazy name.
Listen to this: Jack Arnold Ritter-Sloan.
Anyway, he's a very nice guy, Grump says,
good-natured, easy to get along with, a real
business-getter besides being a top-notch surgeon,
bit of a spendthrift but that's his business. In short
a very bright guy. Grump wanted to keep him here, but
he just suddenly decided he wanted to leave, and he
up and left. Now he's so busy back east that he
needs an associate. Top-quality only,
Grump says, and I might be just the right man."
Gerald paused. "Let me tell you, Hy,
Grump doesn't often give compliments."
Her mind went back to the day when she had given a
lift to a forlorn young man alone on a hill in the
driving rain. New mothers tend to be overemotional,
and I, she thought, was overemotional to start with. She
had to smile at herself.
The months rolled around the calendar, and things
happened as things do, while big changes
loomed ahead like tumbled summer clouds in a blue
sky. Jerry laughed, rolled over, sat up,
crawled, and stumbled on two feet. He was strong,
vigorous, and sweet. He throve. When his eyes
flashed mischief, as they often did, he was more than
ever a duplicate of his father. Often Hyacinth, as
she watched over him, reflected on what his advent
had done for his parents. She had never thought that,
except for some minor vexations and a few crucial
hours in the past, she and Gerald could ever know greater
harmony in marriage. But this tiny boy, this life that
was half his and half hers, had brought it about.
Gerald was comical. He bought every conceivable toy from
age six months, up to a bright blue three-wheeler
that Jerry would not be able to use for at least two
years. He bought a cowboy hat and western jeans the
size of a dinner napkin. For Hy's birthday, he
surprised her with Jerry's photograph in a
handsome old frame. And for Jerry's first birthday,
he corralled every doctor who had a toddler for a
cake-and-ice-cream event on a great lawn in the
park.
"I want him to have everything I didn't have," he
said.
The apartment was cramped. All their fine
presents, from Granny's handmade rugs
to Francine's ornaments, were put away for
safety's sake. One could barely move around without
stubbing a toe or bashing an elbow. And it was all
wonderful.
Somehow Hyacinth was still able to do a little painting while
Jerry napped in the afternoon, or in the evening after his
bedtime. Far from being worn out, she was exhilarated.
She painted cottonwood trees, with a distant
skyscraper rising alone on the vast flat land, and
she made a pen-and-ink sketch of the apartment house so
Jerry might have a memento of his first home.
She even sold some paintings. The best of her work was
a copy of the photograph, the gift of her friends at
the museum back home, of Ernest Shackleton's
stranded ship in Antarctica.
It was Gerald who had urged her to take it to the
gallery where, although she no longer worked there, she had
a warm relationship.
"Somebody's going to buy this," he said. "You've
done it right to a T-the dark ship tilting, about
to fall into smashed ice and white waves. It's
great, Hy."
It hung in the gallery for less than a week before
a boy bought it for Father's Day. The price
was almost a pittance, but as Gerald said, that was not the
issue.
At the start of the final year in his residency, acting
on his own advice, he flew back east to meet
Dr. RitterSloan. There was no sense in waiting
until they moved to the area; supposing then that the two
men should be incompatible, too much time would have been
wasted.
When he returned, he was enthusiastic. It had
gone well. Long into the evening, they sat talking
across the supper table. "We liked each other at
once. Arnie started right out with first names. He's very
friendly and, considering his position, unusually modest.
You'll like him, Hy. The practice is larger even
than Grump described. It's in a handsome
building that Arnie designed himself. And the town is
actually a small city, only a two-hour drive
from your old home." Gerald's eyes glowed with
pleasure in the telling.
"Wait till you see the offices," he continued.
"I don't even want to think about what he's got
invested in equipment. And that's all money I would have
to spend-borrow, I mean-if I were to open a solo
practice."
Hyacinth wanted to know more. Was Arnie
married?
"No, he's never been married." Gerald grinned.
"Maybe he likes his good times too much. He's
twelve years older than I am, but oddly enough,
he acts younger. Yes, you can see that he likes his
good times
and his luxuries, racehorses among them. He
rides, he travels, and he has an apartment in
Florida."
"He doesn't sound like anyone I've ever known."
"I imagine so, but I still think it's a great deal for
us. I think he wants to take it a lot easier.
That's why he wants me. He's promised me a
full partnership after one year if he's satisfied.
And he will be," Gerald added. "I know my work.
Yes, I'm so sure that I've taken a one- year
lease on a house, a great house only twenty
minutes from the office, with an option to buy."
"Oh!" she cried. "You never even phoned me!"
"I had no time. It was take it or leave it.
You'll love it, though. I guarantee. It
reminded me, the minute I saw it, of your parents'
house, only a trifle smaller."
She was astonished. "How can we ever afford anything like
that?"
"You've forgotten-I'm going to be a full partner.
You needn't be doubtful about the house. I know your
taste, and I'm telling you that you'll love it. If
you don't, we won't buy it, and that's a
promise."
Clearly, he was thrilled with the turn that his life was
taking, and Hyacinth was thrilled with him.
This time the red car pulled a fair-sized
U-Haul trailer behind it. As they were about to start the
motor, Hyacinth remembered the camera, and a
neighbor kindly took their picture in front of the
building that had been their first home. There they stood,
the tall pair and the little boy who barely reached his
father's knee, smiling for their posterity, as for themselves in
their faithful old age.
Hyacinth was moved by this departure. Gradually, without
being aware of what was happening, they had blended into this
place. Now at the moment of parting, she noticed that
the young persimmons on the south side-a particular
species found only in Texas, according to the man who
tended them-had grown at least a foot. On the west
side, where a couple of years ago you could drive
past cattle grazing across a few thousand acres,
another cluster of office towers was rising. Even in
this sizzling heat, with the temperature rising
toward the noontime zenith, you could feel the energy in this
place.
Friends grouped around the car to see them off. Somebody
had given Jerry a miniature ten-gallon hat,
which he refused to let go of. The resident staff at
the hospital had given to Gerald and to Hyacinth
each a pair of splendid cowboy boots with a card
attached. "You'll make a hit with these in
Massachusetts," it read.
So at last the moment arrived. The engine started up,
and the car moved down the street and onto the highway.
"We were so happy here," Hyacinth said as they rounded
the corner and took the road to the east.
Jerry slept or babbled in his car seat while his
parents traveled to rollicking music northward through
Arkansas, crossed the Mississippi at
Memphis, and sped through Tennessee to the Great
Smokies. On the third day, they rolled through the
Shenandoah mountains and down into Pennsylvania,
nearer and nearer to New England and home. Just as the
journey away had been a grand adventure, so now
was the return.
At the end, they arrived at a wide main street with
maples and prosperous shops on either side, passed
a fine Gothic high school, a pond in
a cool green park, and an imposing hospital.
Beyond lay more grand old trees and the to-be-expected
comfortable white houses with colonial fanlights over
the doors.
"So," said Gerald, "so here we are. What do you
think?"
Familiar
was Hyacinth's immediate reaction. The house was friendly and
unpretentious, yet if it was not a contradiction, it
also had elegance. And there, sitting on the doorstep,
were Dad, Francine, and even Granny who, with
perfect timing, had come all the way across the state
to greet them.
"And Arnie, too!" cried Gerald. "Now that's a
real welcome for you! I'd never have expected it.
Didn't I say you would like him?"
Arnie stood discreetly apart from the family
greetings, the hugs, the questions, and the fussing over
Jerry. When all this was over, he stepped forward
to be introduced, exclaiming, "Gerald, you
didn't tell me what a pretty wife you have!"
A playboy, was Hyacinth's impression. His
thick, graying hair was styled in waves. His
jacket was tinged with purple. In her quick,
inquisitive fashion, she also saw that his
oddly copper-colored eyes were kind. This playboy
was harmless. Gerald, when later she gave him her
assessment, would be amused.
"I got hold of a couple of men to unload this
evening for you," Arnie said. "They'll put up the
beds, do whatever you need tonight. And there's a great
deli in town.
They don't usually deliver, but they'll do it for me
because I'm a good customer. So you'll have something to eat
tonight, too."
"Arnie," Gerald said, "you're too much.
Everybody should have a boss like you."
Arnie's hand-wave dismissed the compliment. "And I
opened an account for you at the bank. Your first two
weeks' salary is in it. I figured this lady will
need plenty of cash to shop for the house here, after coming from
three rooms in Texas. Come on, let's tour the
house. You'll want to stretch your legs after a day
in the car. Tell me, how's old Doc Grump?"
They went inside, down to the cellar, through the first
floor, up the graceful staircase, and through more
rooms.
Jim admired it all: "Nice square rooms.
I always like that." To Gerald he whispered, "Short
of cash? I'll be glad to help out if you
are."
"No, thanks for the offer, but we'll be fine."
Francine and Granny agreed that the house would be
really lovely. They liked sunny rooms.
"So cheerful. You can have flowering plants at the
windows all winter."
"Plenty of wall space for pictures, too,"
Gerald said. "We'll have them covered one day.
Did I tell you my wife's an artist, Arnie?
She's sold quite a number of paintings, making a name
for herself."
Arnie's enthusiastic response made Hyacinth
uncomfortable. She wished Gerald wouldn't always
boast like that.
"As soon as you people are settled here, you'll come
over and see my place. I'm in one of the new
condominiums near the golf course."
"So you're a golfer, too," Francine said.
"That's my sport."
"One of them," Jim amended.
"No, that's the funny part, living across from a golf
course and not using it. I keep a couple of
horses. Get out to the stables as often as I can.
Greatest sport there is. This little fellow here-now, as
soon as he gets to be five or so,
I'd get him a pony if I were you. Start early.
It's a lifetime's pleasure."
"Well, what do you think about Arnie?" Gerald
inquired later.
Jim was dubious. "I should be frank, so I'll just
say I have a few doubts. He's-I don't know
quite how to express it, but-was
"What you mean," Granny said tersely, "is that
he doesn't talk as a doctor should. Times have
changed, I know. Manners and tastes have changed.
But even so, I also think-was
Gerald interrupted to ask Francine what she thought
of Arnie.
"I liked him. He's somewhat flighty, of
course, and you should keep that in mind, but I sense that
he would never hurt anybody, and that's what's
important, the most important."
Gerald nodded. "I'll take your opinion any
day, Fran- cine. You're a very competent judge of
people."
Til tell you something," Gerald said to Hyacinth some
weeks later. "Arnie's not altogether what I had
expected. He surprised me. There've been big
changes in medicine since he finished his residency
fourteen years ago, and he hasn't kept
up with them. For instance-it's not the most important
thing, by any means-but his noses all look alike.
I'm not saying he's incompetent, of course he
isn't, but he's certainly not the best, and he knows
it, although other people don't."
"I wonder why he doesn't do anything about it?"
"I don't think he cares. He spends half his
energy on his business interests and half on his
pleasures, Mercedes roadsters, and God knows
what else. He's already begun to leave the tougher
cases to me. Well, so much the better. I like this
town. I'd like to buy this house and stay here.
Agreed?"
Hyacinth had made up her mind about that before the first
week was over. She worked quickly, and before a month
ended, she had finished her scheme for the furnishing of the
house, to be done piecemeal, according to income. Arnie
had most generously offered, had almost insisted, on
lending them a substantial sum. But Hyacinth had
refused it.
Already she had made friends in the neighborhood and had
enrolled with one of them in a music appreciation
group that met twice a month.
And now again she had a spacious studio at home.
In it she went to work with a hopeful heart.
Although there was no place for further study within a
reasonable distance, it had to be remembered that many of the
world's great artists had never had lessons.
Arnie's costly building stood on one of the best
streets. The office, replete with the latest
medical equipment and decorated where appropriate
with the finest furnishings, occupied two floors.
Seeing Gerald there for the first time and meeting him once
at the hospital wearing his surgical gown,
Hyacinth felt a vicarious glory. At last he
was where he deserved to be.
Only fools walked through the world believing that they were
in a rose garden. Yet there were moments when Hy could
almost believe that it was so.
Emma Louise's birth, a week after Jerry's
third birthday, was one of those moments. She was
another copy of her father, and although he had hoped for a
boy, he immediately fell in love with her.
"She's beautiful, and she won't go through life with a
ridiculous name like mine," said Hyacinth
to Francine, who had lovingly made some typically
Francine suggestions.
The little family prospered beyond any reasonable
expectations. Often on Sunday afternoons, Hyacinth
would sit on the back terrace reading while
the children played with Gerald, for it was important that
he have his private times alone with them. Then she would
raise her eyes from the page just to listen and look again
at the scene.
The baby voices chirped and shrieked, commanded
"My turn, Daddy! Pick me up first. You
promised. Why can't I? Oh, that was great! Swing
me again, Daddy! Again!"
She supposed that this was as close to perfection as one
could find on earth: the cloistered, leafy boundaries
of the private space, the jolly red and blue toys
for climbing and swinging, the agile young man with his
healthy children, all of it so safe and
permanent,
to use a word that they had used more than once before.
Suddenly there comes a moment when it is apparent that the
garden is not nourishing as it had been doing. Subtle
changes were altering its bloom. A cold spell?
A hot spell? Too much water, or perhaps not
enough?
They had small, fretful tiffs. Out of nowhere, it
seemed, Gerald had been developing a new
sardonic manner, and he was too often irritable.
Pondering the matter, Hyacinth concluded that they were
racing through their days. Gerald was a full
half-partner in the practice now, doing more than
half the work, which did not seem to bother him. He had
all the prestige and responsibilities that went
with the position: the busy surgical service at the
hospital, and the membership on the fund-raising
committee. In addition, partly as a result of these
positions and partly because he was very popular, an
active social life had begun to fill their
evenings. They were always being entertained at other people's
full houses, or doing the entertaining in a full
house at home.
Naturally, Hyacinth was aware of Gerald's high
standards for his surroundings; they had been evident from the
very first days, when he had railed against the ugliness of the
motel where they had first lain together. He had become
more meticulous now, paying detailed at
tention, when they had guests, to everything: to the menu, to the
table service, and to Hyacinth's dress. She,
too, had always taken pleasure in doing these things
well, but although reluctant to admit it, she was also
beginning to wish for less crowding of the hours, for a
return to the more private life that they had enjoyed
before Jerry was born.
"He pushes himself too much. You wouldn't believe his
schedule," she said to her good friend Moira.
"Hy, take it from me. He doesn't work any
harder than you do. Let a man try running after
two kids, cooking, caring for this big house, and Lord
knows what else, besides all the parties you give.
See how that suits him! And you still make time to work in
your studio. When do you sleep, for heaven's sake?"
Moira had a blunt way of talking, and Gerald
did not like her, "What the devil do you see in that
woman?" he demanded.
"She's kind-hearted and loyal, and we speak the
same language."
"What language is that?"
"Oh, music and books, I suppose. She has
interesting opinions."
"Well in my opinion, a woman that homely should
stop talking so much."
"She's not homely, Gerald. And that's a horrible
thing to say. I want you to be nice to her. We're
giving them a dinner for their anniversary."
"My God. Why?"
"Because they had one for us, that's why."
"Can't you give a present instead? I have no
patience with them. The woman's an idiot, and he's
not much better."
They gave the dinner, and Gerald was
coldly polite to the couple, more cold than
polite. After everyone left, Hyacinth had an
argument with him, the first intense one in a long time. It
was made up the next day, of course, yet it
troubled her greatly.
Gradually, she became aware of having tense
moments when there was no reason to: when, for
example, she was at the supermarket, or even working
peacefully at the easel. And she was frightened without
knowing why.
One afternoon she was working there, when Arnie came to the
door.
"Gerald's been trying to reach you," he said, "and the
operator said your phone's off the hook."
"I know. I noticed it a few minutes ago.
Emma plays with it sometimes, and that's what must have
happened. Is anything wrong?"
"No, he only wanted to say he won't be back
till very late. I pass near here on my way
home, so I said I'd deliver the message. I
see you've been painting. There's a green smudge
on your nose."
Poised in the entry, Arnie seemed to be waiting for
an invitation to come in, and she gave it. She had
only good feelings toward him,
recollections of pleasant things like all-male
excursions with Gerald and Jerry to ball games and
fishing ponds. Now he watched her fill in a
cluster of distant trees at the far back of a
harbor view.
"That's a nice picture, Hy. Will you sell it?"
"I'll always sell when I get the opportunity,"
she replied ruefully. "The problem is that I
don't get it often."
"I don't know much about art, but your work, all the
stuff here in this room, looks top-notch to me.
Maybe I ought to own a couple of paintings. You've
been in my place-what do you think? Something over the
fireplace, where I have the mirror?"
"You could surely have one there. It would be a good
spot."
"So how about you and Gerald stopping by to take a
look? See what colors will best match the
furniture. You have a big choice here."
"I'd be glad to, Arnie," she said, being both
touched and amused.
"Say, what's that lighted cigarette doing in the
ashtray?"
"Uh-oh, I forgot. I put it down when you rang
the doorbell."
"I didn't know you smoked. I never saw you."
"I haven't smoked in years, not since before Jerry
was born. And now just a week or two ago, I
started again. I don't know why."
"That's pretty dumb, Hy, if you don't mind
my saying so. I gave it up fifteen years ago,
and Gerald never even began, he tells me. We
don't think we'd enjoy lung cancer that much."
"You're making me feel guilty."
"So why are you doing it?"
She hesitated. "I can't explain it, even
to myself.... Please don't teli Gerald, will you?"
"AH right, I won't. But he'll find out, you
know."
He was looking at her so intently, with such serious
concern, so unfitting to his familiar personality,
that she was startled and looked away.
"You must know what made you begin again when almost
everybody, including you, has stopped or is trying
to stop."
Arnie was persistent, and she knew enough about him to know that
he would not give in until he had some sort of
answer.
"I get tense sometimes, and a cigarette soothes
me."
"Why should you be tense?"
"Isn't everybody sometimes?"
"Ah, Hyacinth, answering my question with a question! That's
a lawyer's trick."
"I'm sorry, but it's the best I can do."
"You're a lovely woman. I can't explain it
exactly, I've known a lot of fascinating
women, but nobody like you. You're different."
It's funny,
she thought,
that's what Gerald used to tell me, the exact
words.
"I don't like to see you unhappy, Hy, When a
person is tense, he's unhappy. And you don't
deserve to be unhappy. You mustn't be. You're
married to a remarkable man. My God, he did a
burn case last week that you wouldn't believe!
I
almost couldn't believe it."
Arnie stood up, and with his hand on her shoulder, he
continued in a manner almost fatherly. Yet there was also a
frank admiration in his manner that, although entirely
respectful, was not fatherly.
"I've watched you for almost six years now, and I'm
going to tell you something: You underestimate
yourself. I'm going to tell you something else, too, and
I give sound advice: You and Gerald need to get
away. Between work and children, you've never had a real
vacation together. You need two weeks in France, or
Italy, or wherever you like, and you should do it now. God
knows you can afford to. Take a week to make
arrangements, pack some new clothes, and be gone.
No, don't argue with me. I'll tell Gerald
tomorrow. No, don't thank me, either. I'm in a
hurry. I'm late."
From partway down the front walk, he called back
to where Hyacinth still stood in astonishment: "And throw
those cigarettes away!"
"It's a pity you have to rush off right now," complained
Francine.8If you could postpone it for a few
weeks, you know we'd love to stay here with Jerry and
Emma. But Diana's having surgery, and we've
promised Tom to go there."
"That's what happens when you have so many grandchildren,"
Jim said as he tied the loose bow on Emma's
pigtail.
They were a charming sight, the grandfather and the little girl
sitting together on the big wicker porch chair. In a
way, Hyacinth thought, she would just as soon stay
home. But in another way, she felt a
need to go. Arnie was probably right; they had been
housebound for a long time.
Jim worried, "I hope they won't miss you
too much."
"They'll be fine. Jerry's a tough little man, and
Emma loves everybody. It's only two
weeks. They'll be in good hands."
"Are you sure this woman is responsible?"
Francine asked.
"She's thoroughly responsible. Sandy's been working
at the office for the last three years. Gerald thinks
the world of her."
"Is she young? I'm asking because you always wonder what
kind of boyfriends the young ones may bring into the house
while you're away."
"She's the quiet type, not the kind who runs
around. You can tell. She's plump, with a pretty
face, but in a few years she'll be fat, poor
thing."
Francine laughed. "Some men like the plump ones."
"Not I," Jim protested. "Slender with a few
curves is my taste."
Exactly so. In her scarlet slip dress,
Francine stood at the railing watching Jerry and his
friends in the yard.
"Look at that boy's curly head! Some women would
kill to have hair like that, wouldn't they? What on earth
are you doing with a cigarette, Hyacinth?"
"Smoking it, Francine."
"Well, you shouldn't be."
Nagging again. Taking up where she left off years
ago, as if I were still nineteen.
"Ah well, ah well," Jim began, and was
interrupted.
"Look at her, Jim. Don't tell me you
haven't noticed, because I know you must have. She
hasn't relaxed her muscles in hours. Let your
shoulders drop down, Hyacinth. They're all
hunched and tensed. Even your jaw is
clenched. You worry me. I've tried since
yesterday to keep my mouth shut, but I can't help
saying that I don't like what I see."
It was on Hy's lips to retort "Then don't
look," but on second impulse, she said nothing.
The criticism was loving, after all.
"Leave her alone," Jim said quietly. "Hy's
old enough to take care of herself. Don't let's
spoil this perfect afternoon."
"All right, all right. I'm sorry, Hyacinth.
I didn't mean to spoil the day. Isn't
that Gerald's car?"
"Yes, he's home early to spend some time with you and
maybe start to work on his suitcase. First trip
to Europe. He can hardly wait."
In the rental car with the top down, fortified with maps,
Hyacinth's fairly fluent French, and a
delightful breeze, they traveled out of Paris to the
places that tourists go to see: the grand palaces,
Versailles, Fontainebleau, Monet's water
lilies, chateaux and gardens like living tapestries.
"It's a dream," Hyacinth said with a laugh.
"Dream's
not an original word, is it? Still to me, this is all
so beautiful that it could be a dream, and I'm in love
with it."
"But you've seen it before."
"When I was twelve. What did I know when I was
twelve? Now I would come here every year if I could.
Yes, like a dream," she repeated.
"So you're happy. I'm glad."
"Who wouldn't be happy? Look at those gorgeous
poppies growing wild, like common daisies at
home. And in midsummer you can see acres of
sunflowers tall as men. I still remember them."
They drove on between the fields. A
popular song came over the radio, and Hyacinth,
hearing the refrain, sang along in French. Gerald
turned to her with a smile.
"You're a cheerful person, Hy. You're good
company."
"You are, too," she said, meaning it.
Why, I am feeling like myself! Myself! she thought in
surprise. The fog, or diswhatever it was that had been
smothering her, was gone. Suddenly she realized that she
had not wanted a cigarette for the last two or three
days. Arnie had given fine advice. They had
really needed to get away together, away from work and
house and children, much as they loved all tljat. We
must do something like this again, must refresh ourselves, even if
it's only to take a weekend in the city or at a
country inn.
"We're staying at another lovely place tonight,"
she said. "I showed you the picture, didn't I?
It's a nice drive from Chartres, not too far.
Wait till you see Chartres, Gerald. It's
one of the greatest cathedrals in Europe, some say the
greatest. There's a wonderful guide there, a real
scholar, who writes about it and lectures all over
the world. He explains its history and the
stained-glass windows-."
"I guess I can look at a window and figure it
out by myself."
She glanced at him. He was driving, so that seeing
only his profile, she was unable to read his
expression. After all these years, she was still sometimes
unsure whether a remark was meant to be facetious
or not.
"We're early enough to walk around the town," she
suggested. "We can have a good lunch and still be in time for the
tour."
"How long is this tour? Not too long, I hope."
"You can leave at any time you want." She was
puzzled. "I'm sure very few people do, though, I've
read his book, and it's fascinating."
"To tell the truth, I'd like to get back to Paris.
We only have a couple of days left, and we should
get in some more night life, get together with those people at
the hotel, do some shopping. We haven't even bought
any gifts to take home."
Why he should want to leave this enchanting countryside
and get together with a group of tourists at the hotel,
she could not imagine. She had learned, of course,
especially during these last few years, that he was far
more gregarious than she was, but even so-
Nevertheless she said agreeably, "Our
Paris room's reserved again, and we can be back in
no time. We'll make an early start in the
morning."
"I was even thinking we might go back today. Maybe
just have an early dinner at the inn and forfeit the
overnight. I'd be willing to start back now, if it
weren't for your wanting to see this cathedral."
"I do want to. We're almost in sight of it. You
can see the two spires in the distance."
Gerald's words had distaken some of the exuberance out of
her mood. But no doubt it was self-centered
to expect that he should share all her enthusiasms,
any more than she had ever shared all of his.
The lecturer was a superb teacher. The season having
just begun, the crowd was still of a comfortable size, and
along with it, Hyacinth followed him. Down the great
aisle they moved to the transept and apse; then,
retracing the distance on the opposite side, they
arrived at last at the resplendent rose window
where, to her astonishment, Gerald stood tapping an
impatient foot and looking bored.
"So you left us," she cried pleasantly.
"I thought he would go on talking all night,"
Gerald said.
"I'm sorry. I thought you would love this."
"I guess I don't fall in love with everything as
easily as you do."
"Fair enough. Let's drive to the inn, have another
marvelous dinner, and then back we go to Paris,"
During the last hour, the sun had abruptly
disappeared. It began to drizzle, and they put up the
top. On the winding, unfamiliar roads, Gerald
had to drive slowly, while Hy watched the map and the
signs.
By the time they reached the inn, under furious rain, the
dinner hour had already begun. In a dining room not much
larger than what one might find in an aristocratic
mansion of the eighteenth century, Hyacinth started the
conversation.
"Gerald, do look at the portrait over the
door, the man with the peruke and the lace cuffs. This
might even have been his house."
"It might."
The mushroom, soup was smooth and rich, the bread was
warm, and the wine, although she was hardly a connoisseur,
must be, she thought, extraordinary. Gerald was
enjoying it.
"Wonderful food," she said.
"Oh, very."
"Gerald, are you angry about anything?"
"Angry? Why should I be?"
"You shouldn't as far as I know. But you do seem put
out."
"Well, Fm not. Fm just tired, driving all day
and now this miserable rain. We can't go back to Paris
tonight on these unfamiliar roads."
Dim lights on the driveway revealed a wild,
windswept night, bringing a picture to her mind.
"It rained like this the day we met. Do you remember
how fierce the wind was? I could hardly hold the
car on the road."
"Damn! This had to happen while we're stuck here
in the middle of nowhere. Nothing to do but go upstairs
to bed."
Nothing to do but lie together in that charming room, all
snug and safe without a care, while the storm beat
outside.
I don't understand, Hyacinth said to herself. And for no
reason at all except perhaps to have something to do, she
looked around the room.
A little family, a couple with three children, sat
directly in her view. The children were sweet, French
and well behaved. The wife was just an average
woman. But the man had a remarkable face.
Bulky and square, it was not like Gerald's,
not a classic face that anyone would talk about, but it
had something else, an expression that brought her back
to look at it again. It was the way he was gazing at his
wife. There was such tenderness in that
small crinkle of a smile! It brought an answering
message from the wife, as if they, too, had some knowledge
between them that was their secret and only theirs. Then he
reached over and for a moment covered her hand with his own.
"What are you staring at?" Gerald inquired.
"What's so interesting?"
"Was I staring? That's awful of me, I didn't
mean to. They just seemed so nice."
"Did you notice that she has no chin? A little
surgery would improve her."
"He loves her anyway."
"Ah, you still do notice things! That I didn't
see. How can you tell that he loves her?"
"There are ways. . .. Tell me, do I need
any surgery?"
Gerald regarded her carefully.
"You're examining me as if you had never seen me
before."
"No, actually you don't need it. You have good
bones-a trifle angular, but good. No, you're
all right."
"Just dull," she said.
He laughed. "Ah, Hy, stop fishing for
compliments."
"I don't always have to fish. Arnie admires me.
I get fine compliments from him."
"Arnie! He's got women all over the place.
Kentucky, Florida, every place. Wherever there are
horses, he has a woman. Women."
Her hands were trembling. Blinking her eyes so that no
moisture would show, she fumbled in her handbag for a
cigarette. Before she had lighted it, Gerald cried
out.
"What, again? Oh well, what's a little lung
cancer? Of course, you might remember that you have two
children."
Dropping the cigarette, she stared at him. "All
right. But why, why, why don't you tell me what's
wrong between us? A blind man could tell that there is. I
have a right to know. Am I boring? Ugly? Mean?
What?"
"Nothing's wrong! For God's sake, Hy,
nothing. Eat your dinner. Have some more wine."
still
don't understand.
In bright sunshine the next day, they raced
through Paris. Hyacinth was barely able to keep up with
him; from the Etoile down to the president's
palace, across the river and back to the Place de
la Concorde, they rushed through the shimmering afternoon.
"You need to be young in this city," he said, and then to her
astonishment, "I'm already too old."
"Why, that's nonsense!" she cried. "Old at
thirty- four?"
"No. This is a city made for youth, for youth that
has leisure and means."
He is feeling sorry for himself, sorry about all the
years when he did not have this, she thought, and was angry
at his self-pity.
Tm going to visit the hospital," Gerald said.
"A man at home gave me the name of somebody
who'll show me around."
"Fine. I'll go to the Rodin museum and meet you
later."
She was forcing cheer that she did not feel even on
reaching the museum, so filled with treasures.
Half-seeing them, she walked about feeling heavy and
cold.
Then suddenly something struck her as if she had been
stabbed: a small sculpture of a man with a joyous
young woman raised high in his arms, as one
picks up a laughing child.
"Je suis belle,"
she read. Yes, of course. still
am beautiful when I am loved.
And for long minutes she stood there looking at the
faces, the wonderful young bodies and the gladness.
After a while, she went downstairs and out through the
lovely gardens. To be in Paris, of all the
places in the world, and to be so troubled! To feel so
lonely! She walked on. At a shop window
filled with children's clothes, she stopped before the
prettiest little dress she had ever seen-white linen,
unadorned except for a band of roses appliqued from
neck to hem. There were rosy shoes to match. Emma
would love those shoes. They did not have her sizes, but
they could have them by tomorrow.
"Positively? Because tomorrow will be our last day. The
next morning we fly home."
Yes, they would have the dress and shoes by late afternoon.
All the way back to the hotel, she kept thinking
about her children. For the first time since they had left
home, she felt a painful longing for their faces, for
Jerry's merriment and Emma's curiosity. With
all her heart, she longed for her children.
They had their dinner. Gerald had missed the
man at the hospital, so he had spent the time
buying gifts. Punctilious as always, he had
chosen appropriately for Hy's
parents, for Arnie, for Emma and Jerry, for the people in
the office, and for Sandy, in appreciation.
They went to a nightclub with the Americans whom
Gerald had met in the hotel lobby. And sitting
there beside her husband, Hyacinth felt again the
loneliness that had corroded the afternoon. He and the other
couple were enjoying everything, the crowd, the bustle, and the
prance of the naked women. Pretending to be one with the
mood, she feigned pleasure. Truly she found
no fault with any of this; people were entitled to their
tastes. If only she could know what Gerald really
wanted, she would willingly give it to him.
What could be wrong? Another woman? Was that
absurd, or was it not? It was absurd; he had
everything, her ceaseless love, his work, their children, their
home, everything. She sat there twisting her rings: the
wedding band and the precious diamond chip he had bought
with his first month's pay.
"Well," he said in their room that night, "just one more
day. I could turn around and come right back here again
next month."
"I didn't think you loved it that much."
"Who, me? What makes you say that?"
"You haven't been very jolly these last few days,
Gerald. Haven't I been asking you why you're so
morose?"
"Morose? You mean because I didn't enjoy the tour
at Chartres?"
"Of course I didn't mean that. Please,
please, don't dodge the question. Answer me: Is
it anything I've done? Be honest with me."
"No, and no, and no again to your silly question."
"Do you swear it?"
"Yes, I swear it."
Lamplight fell upon the bright black hair and on
the dimple in the chin that softened the intensely virile
face. She thought of the sculpture she had seen that
afternoon, and without intending to, she made a sound that was
part outcry and part sigh, blinking the tears back,
although not before he had seen them.
"What's the matter with you, Hy? What is it?
Oh, I hate to see you like this. If it's my
fault, I'm sorry. But there's no reason,
you're imagining-was
She ran to him. "Pick me up and carry me to the
bed the way you used to do. I love you so...."
Later, while Gerald slept his usual
peaceful sleep, she lay awake staring through the
darkness at the outlines of the marble mantel, of flowers
on a table, and of luggage, the best fine luggage,
waiting in the corner. She had wanted affirmation, and
he had given it, or had at least pretended to.
Can there be, she asked herself, an impersonal way
of doing what is so personal? Why yes, of course
there can be. It is as if you did not care who lay
there with you.
Quietly, she slid out of the bed and went to the window.
It was very late, and traffic in the grand Place had
slowed. Lanterns bordered the bridge that stretched
across the river. On the other side stood stately
public buildings, presenting to the world the face of
dignity, that face which human beings present each day
to one another.
But beyond these, and all through the great pulsing city, in the
little spaces where men and women live
together, there are myriad others besides Hyacinth who, in
a different language from hers, are crying her same
cry, baffled by loneliness and a fear of falling.
Francine's telephone call came before breakfast
in the morning. "Jim died. He slipped away
without warning after dinner last night."
Too many things occurred during the following
six weeks for Hyacinth to think very much about herself, so
that the time in Paris receded abruptly into a distant
past. The present loomed large. Poor
Granny, the invincible, having reached her limit with
this totally unexpected loss of her second son,
had gone to a retirement home. Francine, at the
insistence of her sons, had left for a long vacation
trip with them through the Northwest and Alaska.
"Don't worry about her," Gerald said.
"Francine will get along. She's strong and very
smart. She always was the brains of your family."
Rather shocked, Hyacinth protested, "Brains! And
my father had none, I suppose?"
"Very different. He was an intellectual, a
gentle soul.
But Francine is smarter. Smart enough not to let it
show
too much. I wouldn't want to be on her list of
enemies."
This remark, along with other idle bits and pieces
of
the turmoil and tragedy that accompany a death, was in
Hyacinth's mind on a morning in late summer when
she received an anonymous telephone call.
"You don't know me," a woman said, "and
in a way I'm ashamed of what I'm doing, not
giving you my name. It's dirty and cowardly. I've
been putting this off for weeks. But suddenly just now,
I decided I must. It's about your husband, and a
woman."
The hand that held the phone shook so much that Hyacinth
had to brace it with the other hand. "What are you saying?
Tell me who you are."
"I can't. I really can't. Please understand." The
voice was soft, even trembling. "I'm not an
acquaintance of yours, you've never even met me. I
only know you by reputation in the community. I know
you're a good woman with a nice family. I've had
troubles of my own, and I just can't bear to see yet
another woman being spat on, as men do. That's
all. I thought if I told you what's happening, you
might be able to do something about it before it's too late.
The woman works in your husband's office."
The telephone clicked off. Hy put her head
down on the desk. Dirty and cowardly, people say, and
yet there was something in the manner that rang true.
"I don't know," she whispered.
When she raised her head, the room seemed to swim
in a circle. It took a few minutes before she was
able to steady herself and call Moira. You could
trust Moira. She would put everything aside and come
right over.
They sat on the porch steps. After Hyacinth had
spo-
ken her few words, there was a long silence. Sweating,
hot and cold, she waited.
Then Moira spoke slowly, not looking at
Hyacinth, but out across the sun-browned grass.
"I've known it for quite a while, Hy. The one who
minded the children while you were in France-she's the one. I
knew it before that, and I've kept asking myself whether
I should tell you. I'm guessing that Gerald knows
I know, and that's why he doesn't like me."
"How did you find out?"
"Are you sure you want to hear all this? What good will
it do you?"
"I have to hear it. Tell me."
Moira sighed. "Things get around. People talk. One
woman's husband is a doctor, and his office
nurse is a friend of that one, of-of Sandy. Somebody
saw Gerald in the car with her, leaving the shore on a
Sunday. Somebody saw-oh, what's the use?
They've been seen, that's all."
"So everybody knows, except me."
Now it was the trees that moved slowly in a
circle, tilted against the sky. Hyacinth stood
up, leaning against the doorframe.
"Are you going to be all right, Hy?"
Moira's kind face was so anxious that it seemed
she was the one who must cry.
"No, I feel very weak, that's all. No
strength."
"Go in and sit down. Oh, I'm sorry, I'm
sorry. You don't deserve it. Are you sure
you're all right?"
"Yes, really. Really, Moira."
"Are you going to tell him?" Hyacinth smiled.
"I'll have to, won't I?" "Do you want me
to stay here with you?" "No, thanks. I have to get
moving and take care of the children."
"I'll take them home with me. They can stay for
supper. Don't worry about them."
"Thank you. Thank you for everything, Moira."
"A dirty, anonymous phone call," Gerald
said. "And you take it seriously? Some malicious
woman is envious of you, someone sick in the head who
has nothing to do but spill venom."
"She wasn't like that."
"Like what? What do you know about her? This is
ridiculous, and I'm surprised at you."
It would be wrong to involve Moira, so Hyacinth
said only, "Other people know. The woman said I could
ask about your being seen in a car with Sandy."
Gerald laughed. "Well, well! Sandy is a
valuable employee, and still I'm not permitted
to give her a lift in my car now and then? That's
immoral, I suppose."
"It was on the road to the shore."
"Her sister lives on the road to the shore. And where
on the road, anyway? It's fifty miles long,
for Pete's sake. Don't you see how
ridiculous this is and how insulting?"
A small, persistent part of her mind, wanting
to believe him, was holding hard against the larger part that
knew differently. And she was so, so tired. It had
been a long day since morning, probably the
longest day in her life.
"Come, let's get something to eat," he said, kindly
now. "I have to eat fast and get back to the
hospital."
"I meant to cook something, but I didn't. These are
just leftovers. Hamburgers left over."
This was not the dinner to which Gerald was accustomed. But he
only said cheerfully, "Good enough. Stay there if
you're not feeling well, and I'll heat
them."
When they had eaten, she went to fetch the children at
Moira's house. Gerald helped bathe them, and
together they read to them before putting them to bed. Then they
went downstairs, Gerald to watch a ball game and
Hyacinth to sit with an unread book and a whirl of
thoughts.
Surely he could not be thinking of divorce. If
only for those two asleep up there, those two whom
he adored, he would never do that. And surely, if
he had such intentions, would a man like Gerald, so
critical, so fastidious, even dream of replacing
her with somebody like Sandy? She looked across the room
at him. No. The very idea was ludicrous.
Well, suppose he had been doing a bit of
flirting. Face it, Hyacinth, she said to herself,
you've seen that before, as long ago as Dr. Bettina
in Texas. You may not like it, of course you don't
like it, but you've seen enough of life to know that no harm
need come of it. This whole business could be nothing but
trumped-up gossip that spreads and swells and
fools even intelligent people like Moira. It
happens often enough.
The next day was Sunday, a pleasant, routine
morning with pancakes and bacon, the
newspaper, and a child's game of croquet on the
lawn. In the afternoon,
Gerald had to go to the hospital, which was neither usual
nor unusual for him on a Sunday.
But suddenly, after having placated her doubts, or
having thought she had done so, Hyacinth began to feel
them again; the reasonable words of the stranger on the
telephone and the devastating words of Moira sounded quite
clearly in her ears. And so, in the late afternoon, she
called the hospital and learned that Gerald had not
been there all day.
When he came back, they had their dinner and put the
children to bed, as always. Never would they argue in front of
Jerry and Emma. But she was furious when she
confronted him.
"You were not at the hospital today."
"What do you mean?"
"What I said. Don't lie to me. I called up
and found out."
For a few seconds, she let him try for an
answer, and when none came fast enough, she attacked
him.
"Where were you? Out with that Sandy woman?"
There was that ugly line again, the tightened mouth of
Gerald's scorn, very seldom seen, it was
true, but when seen, dreaded.
"As a matter of fact, I was with her this afternoon. I
decided that the gossip you described might perhaps be
very harmful, not as ridiculous as I first said it was.
So from now on, I shall give her no more lifts to her
sister's house, even though I may be going that way.
There will be no more rides to the Main Street stores,
even though they're on my way home. It's
outrageous. But if this is
what evil-minded people make of such innocent
behavior, we'll simply have to change our
behavior. And that's that."
Hyacinth stared at him. Did he really expect
her to believe this flimsy nonsense?
"You must think Fin retarded, Gerald. Tell me,
then, why you had to lie about going to the hospital. You
could have told the truth to me instead of what you're
telling me now." Trembling as she had done
yesterday in the presence of Moira, she clutched the
back of the chair where she stood. "Oh, I've seen
how you bask in comwomen's flattery. I've-was
"Bask," he mocked. "How literary."
"Yes,
bask,
like a cat lying in the sun. Not that there's much
harm in that. It's only natural male vanity,
I suppose. Many times I could have complained, but I
chose to ignore them. I never thought-was
She had stung him, and now he responded. "The
wronged wife! So that's your pose. "Many times."
Why didn't you speak up instead of suffering so
nobly in silence?"
"I didn't want to make an issue of it. We
had a marriage, Gerald, a real one. We have
children."
"Thanks for telling me. I forgot we have children."
"Yes, I guess you do forget when you climb
into bed, or wherever it is that you have your fun."
"Go on. Some people do enjoy torturing themselves, don't
they? You must be mighty insecure to shake like a leaf
because your husband is friendly to some young woman. And in this
case, a hardworking young woman
who took good care of your children. Well, you always were
insecure. Too bad you had such a beautiful mother."
She could not speak, nor could he. The cruel blow,
the unspeakable, now spoken, had horrified them
both. He looked stricken.
"I'm sorry, Hy. I didn't mean that. It
isn't true. It was crazy. But you made me
angry. This is all crazy. I'm
sorry, awfully sorry,"
Biting her lip, Hyacinth controlled herself. "Get
out. Go to her, or to anybody. Go anywhere. I
don't care."
"Yes, yes, let me out of here, too." He
clapped both hands to his head, groaning, "Take
a walk, take a ride. Anyplace."
An hour later, having settled the hastily
summoned baby-sitter, Hyacinth went to the
garage. Gerald's car was gone. Very likely he
had fled to the office; there was no safer place for them
to meet than in their familiar surroundings after dark.
In her pocket she had his duplicate key ring, with
which to silence the burglar alarm. In her handbag was a
miniature flashlight to guide her up the stairs
to the room where they would most likely be. On her
feet were the sneakers that would not spoil the surprise.
Half a block away, where it could not be seen from the
building, she parked the car beneath the cover of trees.
The short street that was so cluttered by day was now
vacant and so quiet that her tread on a twig was
alarming. Like cotton batting, clouds smothered the
night sky. The scene was as eerie as something out of
Sherlock Holmes.
A weak beam from the srreetlamp fell upon
the graceful facade of Arnie's "little gem." For a
moment or two, with the key in her sweating hand, Hy
stood facing it as if to make a final decision; then
having made it, she mounted the shallow steps to the
entrance and turned the key.
The main hall was without any obstacles that could
cause a noisy bump or stumble, so that she moved
easily and without sound to the room where they were most
likely to be. It was vacant. Aware of her
hammering heart, she went from room to room, through
consulting rooms, surgeries, record rooms,
X-ray cubicles, everywhere, keeping the
flashlight low to the floor. Where were they then?
At
her
house, most likely. But she lived with a sister.
Yet what difference would that make? The sister might
well be no better than she.
She!
I never harmed her. I was good to her, yet now she
takes my husband. She destroys me. My children.
My home. My life.
A dreadful rage such as Hyacinth had never known
now swelled in her chest. It seemed to be flooding
her with hot blood whose salty taste was in
her mouth. Think.
Think.
Up and down she walked, back and forth, trying
to focus her thoughts on some sort of action. She
lit a cigarette, and then another one, and kept on
pacing.
Here was the desk where Sandy sat. Here were her tidy
tools: the telephone, a lamp, the computer, and a
glass paperweight enclosing a glass Eiffel
Tower-souvenir from Paris, from Gerald. As
patients came and went, his door would open upon a
view of her. Would
they acknowledge each other's presence, or pretend
not to? Most probably they would pretend
indifference, for Gerald was not one to risk decorum.
The center drawer of the desk was ajar. This was where
women in offices kept personal belongings: a
spare lipstick, mirror and comb, tissues, and
even sometimes precious letters that they wanted to have with
them. She rummaged, and yes, there at the back lay
an envelope fastened with a rubber band. Inside was a
bundle of little notes, addressed in Gerald's
writing and sent to
her
home.
In the narrow beam of the tiny flashlight, his backhand
script was bold.
Sandy, you don't know what you do to me. I walk these
streets every day thinking of you. Why aren't you here with
me? Another cathedral, a miserable rainy night in
a godforsaken country inn, and a big bed without you in
it.
Hyacinth went mad. And strangely, in her
madness, she directed her hatred toward Sandy-not
Gerald.
You were in my house for two weeks. You saw my
beautiful children, you went snooping through all my things!
she cried. My
clothes, my books, my mail. All my
secrets, my private ways. You and he have been
laughing at me, and oh how you'd love to take my
place, to live my sweet life! If you can,
you'll do it, you'll work, you'll eat away like a
termite.
Hyacinth's arm whipped out into the air. It struck the
desk lamp and smashed it to the floor. It swept
over the surface of the desk and cleared it of papers,
paperweight, telephone, and computer. All came
crashing to the floor.
In Gerald's room she repeated the
destruction, a paltry revenge for insult, for what
he had done to her very existence as a woman. Andwitha
spreading smile, she stood there surveying her work,
imagining his face- their two faces-when in the morning
they would see this wreckage.
Then fear came. If they should enter now and find her
here-no, she was not prepared for that. And she fled.
Down the hall she raced, down the outer steps, where
she stumbled and fell on the grass, dropped her
handbag, scooped up its contents, andwitha painful,
bloodied knee, limped to the safety of the car.
Except for the living-room lamp, where the
babysitter was reading, the house was dark. She paid the
girl, answered a question about the injured knee, and
learned that the children had been long asleep. No,
Gerald had not come home.
Once in bed, she was seized with a queer sensation. It
was as if, after painful effort, she had triumphed, as
if she had reached the top of a mountain and now, looking
down, saw how far was the fall to the bottom, how far
and dark. What was to come next? With this queer sensation
pressing in her head, on her bruised knee, and
all through her exhausted body, she lay waiting for
something to happen.
Night sounds woke her, first crickets and
then the ringing telephone. It was on Gerald's side
of the bed, but he was not there, so reaching and fumbling in the
dark, she grasped it and took a message. If
he had come home, he must be in the spare bedroom,
so she went there at once.
"Get up. There's a fire. Arnie just got the
call." "What? What?" Gerald mumbled. "A
fire. The office is burning down."
After breakfast Hyacinth took the children to Moira's
house and drove to the office. The scene was a total
confusion of sight-seers and vehicles. These, along
with fire engines, the fire chief's car, a police
car, and an ambulance, jammed the narrow street. The
elegant building was already a sorry reminder of
what it had been, its stone walls erect but
blackened, all wood trim gone, window glass
shattered, and the fine wood-shingled roof collapsed.
Well, now they'll never know what I did to the
desks, she thought, and was instantly sorry because poor
Arnie was standing there on the sidewalk looking at the
ruin of his "little gem."
"Oh, Arnie, what a pity! However did this
happen?"
The air was clouded with smoke and filled with its
scorching smell. Blinking with reddened
eyes, he gave her a look of helpless defeat,
so that she had a second's thought: If he were a
woman, he would weep openly.
"Does anyone know-I mean-is there anything
left?" She hardly knew, in the face of his pain,
what there was to say.
"No, nothing left. Just junk. Pieces. The
place is a shell. And nobody knows anything,
except that the fire alarm didn't go off. They're
still poking around inside trying to figure it out.
Maybe a short-circuit. Probably.
Gerald's in there now talking to people. I had to go out
and get some air. The smoke smell sickens you.
Well, there's no crying over it, is there? Done
is done."
"You were so proud of it," she said gently. "It was a
really, really beautiful building."
"It should have been, considering what I paid the
architect. I got one of the best in the country.
Wanted something classy, nothing gaudy, because this is
that kind of town. Couldn't trust my own taste. The
fact is, I'm not like Gerald. I don't have any
taste, and I know it. Right, Hy?"
"Right about what?"
"That I have no taste. Come on, Hy,
level with me. You know what I am, and I know you
know it."
Putting a hand on his arm, she kissed his cheek.
She could have cried for him, and for much, much else besides.
"You can have it rebuilt," she said. "Can't you? It's
insured."
"I don't know. Gerald and I have been thinking
anyway about that Florida business, and maybe this will
give us the push we need to sell this practice and
make the move. Fortunately, all our patients'
records were in fireproof cabinets," Arnie
added.
"Florida? Move to Florida?"
"Hasn't he told you? I guess he wants
to surprise you. We have a chance to buy a
practice. Big. I mean big. Makes us
look like pikers. Real old guy is retiring.
We think we can swing it."
She was shocked, and said so.
"Oh, but you'd like it, Hy. No hard winters, good
private schools for Emma and Jerry if
private schools are your thing, and a house can be
gotten, too, a great house near the water. I
surely don't want a house, so that'll be for you."
He was waiting for a comment, but since she was
unable to muster one, he continued.
"There's a load of cosmetic surgery down there.
You'll be able to put plenty aside for the kids so they
can stay dry if there's ever a rainy day. Not a bad
idea, is it?"
"No," she said weakly.
Changing the subject, Arnie resumed, "This was a
three-alarm fire. Can you believe it? When I
got here a little after two, the smoke looked like a
burning city, gray and red, like a bomb attack.
They were in there fighting till maybe seven o'clock. You
have to hand it to those men. One of them broke his arm, and
there are two in the hospital. Smoke inhalation.
Bad stuff."
Hyacinth looked up at the charred walls. Problem
had been piled upon problem. Rage and grief had
already overwhelmed her, and now there was this further twist
of fate. She was still staring at the walls when Gerald
came down the walk.
"It's a war zone in there," he said, addressing
Arnie. "I don't think that one of those two men is
going to live. The whole floor collapsed, and he
went down with it into the flames."
- Arnie shook his head. "What the hell could have
done this? I've heard that rodents, mice
or squirrels, can gnaw a wire and set off a
fire."
"It wasn't necessarily electrical." "No?
What then? Where did it start?"
"They can't be sure, but possibly, or even
probably, in my room. When they arrived last
night, there was evidence of some sort of disturbance
there. Stuff overturned on the floor. Or so
somebody thought. But it's hard to tell."
"But who could have gotten in? The burglar alarm never
sounded."
"Don't worry, they'll be looking into that."
Gerald had still not acknowledged Hy's presence. Now
he said grimly, "You might see whether anything is
needed for that poor fellow or for his family,
Hyacinth. There's a little boy, and a pregnant
wife. Here, I've written the name."
She could not help but ask, "Is he really not
expected to live?"
"He fell a full flight into the cellar. Smashed
his head on concrete. No, he isn't expected
to live, and if he does, his life won't be worth
living." Gerald turned away. "Can you go in again,
Arnie? The insurance people need us."
In the car on the way home, Hyacinth
spoke aloud: "God help me."
Her hands gripped the steering wheel. As if it were an
entity separate from herself, her mind talked to her; it
analyzed and cautioned.
You did smoke some cigarettes, that's true. But
you crushed them. Positively you did. You're known
to be a careful person.
Yet-yet there is such a thing as an accident,
isn't there? Something unintended. Something one forgets,
like keeping one's eyes on the road, or turning off
the gas
oven. You can't condemn a good person for having an
accident. Can you? Can you?
No, I'm sure I never left a lighted
cigarette anywhere. Pull yourself together, Hyacinth.
You had no part in this fire.
But are you sure? Did you really stub them out? Do you
even remember seeing an ashtray? Think. Think.
At home again, she sat down in the kitchen and
drank three cups of coffee. Beyond the window was the
garden that Dad had laid out for them. If he were
alive, dear, wise, reasonable, quiet Jim,
he would know how to straighten out this tangle of troubles.
She could almost hear his voice as he sat with Emma
on that last day before the trip to France. She
stood up, opened the door to the back porch, and
looked at the chair. Emma's Raggedy Ann
doll lay on the floor, and Jerry's new two-
wheeler was propped against the wall.
Home! Good Lord, shall a creature like Sandy be
allowed to wreck it? Surely Gerald does not
want that, either. This is an ugly but passing
escapade. Men do it, but women need not let it be
the end of their world. Who knows but what Jim, too,
hadn't had his escapades now and then, known or
unknown to Francine? Even in such a contented,
tranquil marriage as theirs had been, it is
possible.
It's strange that I could have been in that awful,
jealous rage last night and that now I'm not any
longer. I'm wounded, most terribly wounded, which is
different.
But I'm stubborn. I've always been stubborn.
When there's a storm at sea, what do people do?
Batten down
the hatches or trim the sails, whatever that means.
. . . So now I have to stand up straight and use my
head. What do I do next?
Tomorrow is the first day of school, second grade for
Jerry and nursery school for Emma, a
big step for each. They'll need loving attention, and
Gerald is in no mood to give it, so I'll just do
double. This afternoon, new socks for Jerry and teeth
cleaning at the dentist's for both of them. Last,
dinner for this evening, a special one to show an angry
man that the storm has begun to die down a bit.
With this resolve, Hyacinth went systematically through
the day. But Gerald did not come home for dinner. It
was late, and she was already in bed when she heard him come
up the stairs and go into the spare bedroom. Well,
he was sending a message.
In the morning she stopped him at the front door as
he was leaving and spoke quietly. "We can't live
like this, Gerald, avoiding each other. We need
to talk."
"Not now."
"Well, at least tell me about what's happened
to that poor man-was
"He died. The funeral is the day after tomorrow at
eleven o'clock in the church on Maple Street."
Gerald's tone was flat. "After that we can talk."
"Gerald! We have to do it before then. My head is
spinning. We need to straighten out what you're going
to do about Sandy. And what of this move to Florida?"
"Not now, I said. Let me go, I'm in
a hurry."
"Are you coming home to dinner tonight?"
"Probably not."
"Oh Gerald, stop. This is no good at all.
If you won't communicate, how can we ever-was But
he was already out of hearing.
Half the town, or maybe more than half of it, was
in some way connected with the funeral. The two
newspapers, state and local, each bore a
front-page photograph of the brave young
fireman who had risked and lost his life among
collapsing walls and flames. The flag on all
the public buildings was at half mast, with the
firehouse draped in black. The church was filled,
and people crowded the street outside.
Hyacinth, determined to act normally, arrived early
enough to save two seats for Gerald and Arnie. It
surprised her when Arnie arrived alone and inquired
about Gerald.
"He'll be here," she said. "He had an errand."
The coffin was closed. She tried raising her eyes
toward the vaulted ceiling, but they always came back
to rest upon the long black box. Thirty, he had
been. Two years younger than I, she thought.
"Oh, there he is," Arnie said, "coming in
with the girls from the office. He doesn't see me.
Oh well, they've sat down. Is anything the
matter with Gerald, Hy?"
"Nothing but the fire and all the trouble. Isn't that
enough?"
"Yes, of course the fire, but still I thought there
might be something else."
Now the organ wept softly above the stir and rustle
of the congregation as the widow appeared. In her poor
black dress, she came with her head down, holding
by the hand her wide-eyed, scared little boy. The child was
Jerry's age; the mother was ready to bear her baby
perhaps as early as the next hour. All Hy's stoic
resolution dropped away like a discarded coat.
Outside, as if to match the funereal mood, the day
had turned somber. A gray, blank sky the
color of tin enclosed the earth, and a warm wind tore
at the leaves, turning them inside out. Like a horse
or a cow in a field, thought Hyacinth, I feel
the impending storm.
Shortly after the children had gone to bed, it broke. The
first thunder rumbled when Gerald entered the little den where
Hyacinth was sitting.
"As you have seen," he began, "the building is
ruined." And he paused.
This cold and formal manner disconcerted her. He
might better have said something about themselves and the possible
ruination of their marriage. Since the pause was long,
she found time enough to say so. "What about us? What about
our marriage?"
"We'll get to that later," he replied. "First
things first. I'd like to know how you're feeling after what
you've done."
"Done? What have I done? I'm not the one who's
been caught with lies or who's had any secret
affair, am I?" She spoke quietly, keeping
her dignity. "Every hour since last Monday,
I've been thinking about this, Gerald. I don't have
to tell you what it has meant to me, because you must know very
well. What I do have to tell you is that I'll put
it behind me. Yes, you have my word that I'll never
mention it for the rest of my life, if
you'll get rid of that girl tomorrow so we can start fresh
and be ourselves again. Pm willing to do that. For all our
sakes, Jerry's and Emma's, and our own, I
want to do it."
"That's not what Fm talking about, Hyacinth. I
want to talk about why you went to my office."
Curiously, her heart instead of leaping, slowed
down.
"I? In your office? When?"
"The night it burned down after you set the fire."
"I set the fire? You can't be serious."
"Oh, but I am. Very serious. That was not an
electrical fire. Somebody was inside that
building. Somebody vandalized my office."
"And naturally, I'm the somebody because I found out
about that woman. Oh, that's clever detective work.
Really clever."
"Sarcasm won't help, Hyacinth."
"Listen to me. If you think somebody was there, you should
question your employees. You have five of them, and they
all have keys. It's outrageous that you should accuse
me."
"They all have been questioned. The police and the insurance
investigators know what they're doing, Hyacinth.
And they all have valid excuses for that night.
Ironclad."
Each repetition of her name struck a blow. And
yet her heartbeat was still slowing. Perhaps it was winding
down to stop.
"So send them to question me also. I don't care. This
is too stupid. No, it's not stupid, it's
evil. Evil, Gerald."
"Do you really think so?"
"Of course I do. I haven't been near your
office since before we went to Paris, for God's
sake."
And God forgive me for the lie, but how else can I
save myself? I didn't burn it down!
From his pocket, Gerald drew a small package
wrapped in paper, took out the contents, and pushing
aside some books, laid them on the table.
"Then what about these?"
Hyacinth stared. There were a powder compact,
lipstick, and pocket comb that they had bought together on
the Left Bank near a museum. Of blue
enamel, each had a narrow black band with the gilt
insignia of the maker. She could not speak.
"They were on the grass between the azaleas and the
sidewalk. I found them at first daylight on the
night of the fire."
Gerald's voice became surprisingly gentle.
"Nobody else knows. Nobody but us need ever
know."
Now in spite of all stalwart resolutions, tears
flooded her eyes; after her usual fashion, she
wiped them roughly away with the back of her hand. And still
she was unable to summon a word.
"Why did you do it, Hy?"
Oh my God, it was when I stumbled and dropped my
bag.
Her tears went beyond control, and she wept. "I
didn't do it on purpose! It must have been my
cigarettes. I read your notes to her, and I went
crazy. I only wanted to wreck her
possessions, and then yours, too. I lost my mind,
I tell you. Don't you believe me? I did not
set any fire on purpose."
"If I did believe you," Gerald said, still
gently, "would anybody else? What plausible
reason can you give for being in my office at night?
It looks like arson, you see, and arson is no
joke. It's a criminal offense."
"Even if you didn't do it on purpose?"
"Yes, Hy, even then. You have to remember that even
if you didn't do it on purpose, a man is dead
as a result of it."
She was stunned and silent as he continued.
"That makes it a felony-murder. First or
second degree. This would probably be second
degree."
"What does that mean?" she whispered.
"Twenty years, perhaps, for arson, and the same for the
death, to be served concurrently."
"How do you know all this?"
"From the lawyers and the insurance people."
"Are you sure?"
"Look it up. Find out for yourself. But don't
worry. There's absolutely no suspicion of
you. None at all. At least, not yet."
She was seeing the widow's huge belly under the poor
black dress. She was seeing a little boy's frightened
eyes, and she was seeing herself behind a barred door.
"I want to die."
"No, Hyacinth."
"I don't deserve to live. I don't want
to live."
"Of course you deserve to live. You're a good
person. You're a harmless innocent, as your mother
says."
"What am I going to do?" she cried, and wrung her
hands. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm goijig to do nothing. My lips are sealed,
as the saying goes. Trust me. If I didn't
care about you, I surely care about Jerry and
Emma. They have a good name in the world. . . . Arnie
and I, especially Arnie, have put a big sum in
the bank for the widow, and we, again mainly Arnie,
intend to keep adding to it."
They sat still. Gerald picked up the newspaper and
began to read as if this were any ordinary, comfortable
evening. For perhaps an hour, still in shock and stunned,
she watched him. Then, when a restless, desperate
feeling overcame her, she stood up.
"I need to walk," she said. "Will you come with me?"
"No, I'll wait here till you come back."
It was almost dark. The. familiar streets looked
strange, foreign and unfriendly. A house looked
oddly like a face; the front door was a surly
mouth, and the second-story windows were mean eyes.
On someone's lawn, a cat pounced upon a screaming
bird with such cruelty that she felt sick at the
sight. Quickly she turned about and went home to sit
on the porch in the chair where Jim had sat.
I have been going downhill for months, she thought,
long before we went to Europe. In fact, that's why
we went-or why I went. Arnie knew. He's a
good man, and smart; he might even have known that
Gerald had stopped loving me.
Now it was pitch dark. The tall clock in the hall
chimed eleven, and still she sat there with her thoughts.
What have I come to? What have I done with my rage
and carelessness? And before her eyes, she saw again the
widow, the little boy, and the unborn child walking
toward her down the aisle. She saw too her own
Emma and Jerry-what have I done to them?
Yes, I have been going downhill, and I've come
to this. But I must climb up again. I must learn
to live with horror. I must make Gerald love
me again as he did in the beginning. Yes. Oh
God, please help me.
The earth, the grass, the fence, and the very bulk of the
house were swallowed up now by the night, but above them the
sky was bright with stars. And for some reason buried
deeply in history, in myth, or in human
consciousness, those ancient suns began to speak to her
of courage, of climbing up from the depths.
"Come," Gerald said, standing over her. "Come
upstairs. I will give you a pill so you can
sleep."
"You know I never take pills. I never need
any."
"But tonight you do." And he took her hand to draw her out
of the chair. "Come up."
"You need to pull yourself together, to get some help," he
told her the next day.
"I'm thinking how sad and bitter it is that you and I
should ever need a third person to help us. But we
do."
"Not exactly, Hyacinth. I don't feel that I
need any third person for counseling, since that's
what you mean." be
They were in the kitchen after the children had left for his
school. She had been putting dishes back on the
shelves. Now she pulled out a chair at the table and
sat down. bar
"That doesn't make much sense," she said.
"I think it does, Hyacinth,"
His use of her formal name seemed to bode no good.
but she spoke calmly. "Well, I don't think
so. I'll do my best to get us past this awful
trouble, this thing that I've done, and with your help, I can
do it. I know I can."
"I'll help you. I'll pay for anything you need,
as I always do."
Surely he understood what she meant and was dodging,
not wanting to understand. He seemed like a stranger as he
stood in the doorway, immaculately dressed,
tall and too imposing for the humble background of the
kitchen.
Aloof was
the word. And
critical
was another. Cool and self-contained, and so
certain of himself that it was confusing to remember him as the
eager student who had come to the museum on that morning
not so many years ago. When and how had this happened?
"I'm not asking for anything money can buy. What
I'm asking, Gerald-I did ask-is that you get
rid of that foul girl."
"That's all the same to me, neither here nor there.
It's not the issue."
"All the same to you? You're not in love with her?"
M
No. Never was. I'm sorry you found those stupid
IgjftQtes, sorry that you've been so hurt. I
never wanted to TT you. It was a stupid affair.
It lasted six weeks and do. She'll be gone by the
first of the month." vfa- a way, this news should have been
the best she I possibly expect. And yet in
another way, his cava- Mttitude was a shock.
And from some flash in her i there came a sensation: In
the still of the evening, I at the window hearing
Francine's voice.
he gets ahead in the world, he'll chase
women. ... Hyacinth's no match for that kind of
business.
..."
"How many of these so-called stupid affairs
have you had, may I ask?"
"Not many. A man does these things, you see, and afterward
he feels they weren't worth the hazard. It's
just-well, you know how it is, you listen, you read, you
look around the world. It's not nice, but it happens.
And I do admit that I'm ashamed. Most men are."
This is hardly a heartfelt apology or a plea
for forgiveness. Yet perhaps it's the best he can do. And
if so, it must be accepted. Think!
He
has accepted what still have just done!
And silent there at the kitchen table, Hyacinth
twisted the wedding ring, became aware of the habit, and
stopping it, gazed about at all the dear and precious
artifacts of home: the children's mugs with their names in
red script, Granny's rug in the hall, and
Gerald's golf clubs propped against the wall.
Here was a life under construction, growing piece
by piece through the years.
"We've both done wrong," she said softly. "But
we can start again. We can be what we once were. You
know it."
He said nothing.
"No answer, Gerald?"
He sat down on the other side of the table,
not looking at her but away, past the window. "Things
haven't been the same for the last year or two," he
said.
"That's true. And I've been sick over it.
Sick in my heart. I've made attempts
to find out from you what was wrong, but I never got more
than a denial that there was
anything wrong." Still she spoke sadly, without
accusation. "Even now you sit there and you don't say
anything, Gerald."
"I'm listening."
"All right. We've changed a bit. We've
grown older. Isn't it natural to change a
bit? For instance, you've become more lively than
I. You want activity all the time, and people around
practically every night-which is fine," she added quickly.
"There's nothing bad about that. We don't have to be
identical. We only need to compromise."
"Maybe a separation for a while would do us both good."
"Separation? What can you mean?"
"I only meant-in the circumstances. Just a
trial, to see how we feel."
"All this mystery!" she cried, clasping her head
between her hands. "All these things going on behind my
back. Arnie tells me about Florida.
You say nothing to me about it except that now you want
a separation. Now, when I need your strength!"
"No, no, Hyacinth, listen to me. All I mean
is a rest for both of us. We've been through a
crisis. We need time to think."
When he put his hand on her shoulder, she drew
roughly away. "A time to think? About what? When people
separate to "think," it ends in divorce. Is
that what you want? Tell me. Is it? A
divorce?"
"Hyacinth," Gerald soothed, raising a hand in a
gesture of appeasement, "let's calm down and
talk together. Let's be civilized. It's you who just
used the word
divorce.
But when you think about it, divorce isn't the end of
life, you know. In some cases it can be a fresh,
healing start."
"Civilized!" she screamed. "A "civilized
divorce"- that's another modern cliche, isn't
it? That's what you're aiming at, isn't it? Have you
forgotten-oh my God, my God, have you forgotten
how we loved each other? We were one. One mind.
One body-have you forgotten?"
And sinking back in the chair, she sobbed and
rocked and wept.
"This isn't good for you. You'll make yourself sick.
And it won't be good for the children if you act this way.
Jerry's a big boy now, big enough to wonder what's
going on."
When he reached over to stroke her head, she jumped
up again and slapped him. "Damn you! Damn you! You
wanted me to abort him!"
"Control yourself, Hyacinth. We'll accomplish
nothing this way. Let's talk peaceably. I
want to be kind to you. The last thing in the world I
want to do is to make you unhappy. But you have to listen
to me."
She was frenzied. The sky had fallen. The world had
blown up. "Do you mean it?" she cried. "Say it
right out: "I don't care about you, Hy, and I
want a divorce." Say it. Loud, so I can be
sure I heard it."
"I'll never say I don't care about you, because it
isn't true."
She watched him neatly arrange the spoon on the
saucer, parallel to the edge of the table. Neatly he
placed the napkin to the left of the plate. These
actions, in themselves correct, filled her with fury.
That he could be
so meticulous, so orderly, while at the same
moment he was destroying their life! Andwitha savage
swing, she tipped the table over on its side,
hurling pot, cups, and plates to the floor.
"Well," Gerald said. "Well. I see there's
no use talking to you this morning, so I'd better
leave our talk for another time. I'm going to the
hospital. I still have patients to take care of, in
case you're interested."
"I'm not interested. Not at all. I'm interested in
what's happening to my children and to me."
"The children will have everything children need. As for you-you're
unbalanced, Hyacinth. Look what you did just now.
You can't call this an accident, either. You can't get
away with that this time."
"Are you saying you don't believe that it was an
accident at the office?"
"No, I don't believe it, Hyacinth."
"That I burned it down on purpose? Is that what
you think?"
"Yes. You were in a jealous rage, and you took
deliberate revenge."
"I went crazy for a minute. I threw stuff off
the desks. I broke things. But that's all I
did!"
"That's not all. You're forgetting that a man died."
"I'm not forgetting. I'll live with that till my
own time comes. But I'm not crazy."
"Let's not be so technical. Let's just say
you're out of control. You're unbalanced. And I
can't cope with that, I can't give the right care to my
children, be a good doctor, and live with a woman in your
condition all at the same time."
"What do you mean by "the right care" for Jerry and
Emma? That's my job. I'm the one who's home
all day."
"We'll talk later, I said." At the kitchen
door, he paused and spoke solemnly.
"Hyacinth, I gave my word, and I'll repeat
it. No one will ever, ever learn the truth about what you
did. No one. I wouldn't do that to you or to the children.
Remember that. You can sue me for divorce, for
total incompatibility, irreconcilable
differences, or whatever you want. I won't fight.
It won't go to court." We'll simply
settle. And this business will never enter into it. Now
I'm going. I'm late."
Silence fell. The house was too large, a lake
without shores. She was swimming, and her strength was
gone, her arms and legs giving out. The
walls were too close, as in a cell or an
elevator stalled in a shaft with the last oxygen
seeping away. She pleaded: What am I to do?
There was no one dear enough to ask. Jim was dead,
Granny was too old and ill, Francine's
tragedy was too fresh, and even though Moira was a
good friend, one still had one's pride.
Oh hello, Moira, I need to tell you something.
Gerald wants to divorce me.
Get out of the house and into the air. Sit in the yard.
Lie back on a lounge chair. I'm thinking
I've just woken up from a nightmare. This didn't
really happen. Go open the kitchen door and look.
The table reminds me of a poor fallen horse that
I saw, poor thing, with its four legs in the air.
So it isn't a nightmare. Lie back in the chair
and look up at the sky, all calm and blue.
Geese come
wheeling in and curving to the south. Shall I take my children
and run away, run anywhere?
After a while it became uncomfortably hot, and she
went into the house. The mess in the kitchen had to be
cleaned. There were plenty of chores this morning, as there
were every morning, all of them suddenly unimportant but
necessary. There on the table lay the blue
compact, along with a pack of cigarettes. With all
the strength in her arms, she hurled them into the garbage
can, swearing with total strength that never again as long as
she lived would she put a cigarette between her lips.
"Never, never, so help me," she repeated.
Then she lay down on the sofa in the living room.
The classical station on the radio was playing a
piano concerto, a piece familiar to her although she
was unable to name it; simply, it was music that Jim
had loved. One evening he had played it twice
over on the CD, and Gerald had pretended he
loved it, too. Gerald had pretended....
In late afternoon, the telephone rang. "Hello,
darling," said Francine. "How are you?"
"I'm fine. And you?"
"Oh, my trip did me a lot of good. You know
I hadn't felt like going, but your brothers insisted that
Jim would want me to start living again after all the
crying I've done. So I went, and we talked about
Jim, told some jokes about him, and I was able
to laugh. I thought I would never laugh again. You should
see Paul's new
house. You and Gerald must take the children next
summer and visit them. They have the most wonderful
view-was
"Francine, you told me about it when you called last
week."
"All right, I won't fool you. I'll get right
to the point. Jerry phoned me just now."
"Jerry phoned? You mean he got the number
himself?"
"Of course. He can read numbers. Gerald showed
him how to use the phone, too. He called to tell
me something's wrong. 'Mommy's crying," he said.
He heard you."
"I was in my room with the door shut."
"Well, he heard you."
The further horror that her little boy was scared enough to do
this and old enough to be that scared was too much. Hy's
voice broke as she answered: "Gerald wants a
divorce."
From one hundred miles away, Francine's gasp
came over the wire. "What? What?"
"He wants a divorce."
"Why? Since when?"
"Please. It happened this morning. I can't talk
now. I have to straighten up and fix some dinner.
Please."
"Hyacinth, I'm coming over. God Almighty, this
is insane. FH be right there."
She couldn't, absolutely couldn't cope with
Francine's visit now. "No, Mom. Please
don't come." This was probably the first time since
childhood that she had
called her mother
Mom.
"I'll be all right. You don't need to come.
Please don't."
But Francine had already hung up.
Driving at high speed through the early darkness,
filled as she was with apprehension and dismay,
Francine had been limp when she arrived. But this was
no time to be limp; rather, it was a time for sharp eyes.
These now traveled around the comfortable library to the
shelves filled with books that Hyacinth had been
collecting since childhood, then to the fine library
steps and tall blue lamps of Danish porcelain
and all the fine furniture that had been bought with
Gerald's earnings.
He didn't need Hyacinth any longer. He was
well on his way without her. It was as simple as that.
As smooth as ever, he sat in his leather wing chair.
All he needed now was a large handsome dog at his
feet-an English setter or an Old English
sheepdog would do nicely-and beside him a
silver tray holding glasses and some rare scotch,
to take his place in any fashionable, glossy
magazine.
"Don't be angry with me, Hyacinth," Francine
said. "I didn't come here to take over the situation.
I've never interfered for even one minute since you
married, have I? But when Jerry phoned, I couldn't
just sit back and do nothing, as if you were a neighbor
on the next street instead of my daughter."
Hyacinth, with her huge, tragic eyes, her
blanched and devastated face, sat like a refugee
in a war zone, too exhausted to say any more.
"I know you're perfectly capable of taking care of
yourself. I haven't any intention of treating you like a
child, and if you want me to turn around and go home, I
will."
Neither Gerald nor Hyacinth spoke. Perhaps they
had both already said all they had to say. Perhaps the
presence of a third person might clarify the air.
And so she reasoned, addressing Gerald and, with
effort, controlling disherf.
"In an outburst of temper she upset the kitchen
table, you tell me. And that's your sole complaint?
While the neighborhood is talking about your affair
with the babysitter? Just how would you expect a
woman to react to that?"
"It's not only that. It goes much farther back, as
I've been trying to explain. Hyacinth has been
nervous and depressed for some time. She admits it
herself."
"Uncontrollable, as you so delicately put it.
If that's true, and I have my doubts because
Hyacinth, in spite of a very infrequent burst of
temper, has always been a rather placid, contented
person, is that any reason for divorcing her? For
abandoning her?"
"I'm certainly not abandoning her,
his
Gerald said, "not
at all. You don't let me finish."
"Don't quibble with me, Gerald. This is too
serious."
"I didn't mean to quibble."
He was being calm and cool, so therefore she must stay the
same. But she was beginning to boil with rage.
"You see," she said, "there has to be a reason that
reaches, as you say, farther back. Now I strongly
suspect that this affair is not your first one. So it is
you who have
really begun the change in the relationship that
has ended in this mess."
"This isn't about my miserable affair, for which I have
sincerely-sincerely apologized."
Hyacinth's voice was barely audible. "And I've
accepted it. That girl didn't really mean anything
to Gerald, Francine. We still belong to each other."
Belong to each other,
Francine thought.
Oh darling child, nobody ever belongs to anyone but
himself.
"That's not the issue here," Gerald insisted. She
must be equally insistent. "I think it is. I think
you have the seven-year itch. You're tied down here with a
family, it's made you cranky, which has affected
Hyacinth, and the whole thing has snowballed." "I'm
afraid you oversimplify."
"Then don't be so vague. By the way, what does
your partner say about this?"
"He's a professional partner, that's all he is,
and this is no concern of his."
Francine, accepting the rebuke, tried another
approach. "You've been well treated in this
family, Gerald,
like one
of our sons. I should Wee you to think about that
before you take such a final enormous
step."
"You mean the money? I've always been thankful. It
was a godsend, and I wanted to repay it, but Jim
would not let me. I have every intention of giving it
to Hyacinth now, in full."
"It's not I who gave you the money!" cried
Hyacinth in a swift change of mood. "My father
did! And I don't want a penny from you. Not like
this. A bribe so that you can leave without any trouble and
soothe your
conscience? Oh, no! You were right, Francine! You were
right!" She jumped up and fled from the room.
"Look what you've done to her, Gerald."
"It's impossible to talk to Hyacinth. There's always
so much wild emotion." He shook his head. "People
divorce these days without tearing themselves apart. They
agree to disagree."
"Well, Hyacinth isn't one of those people. She
married you with her whole soul, with passionate love,
not a temporary-what did I say before?-a
temporary itch."
"It's not that easy. You don't know the background."
He was imperturbable, immovable, a hard man.
After an hour she had made no impression
on him. And forgetting her resolution, she loosed
her fury.
"I predicted the "background," if you
remember, after seeing you half a dozen times or
less. Yop're a Don Juan, You change
women the way a decent man changes his clothes.
No, you never fooled me. She was a match made in
heaven for you, my Hyacinth was, a sweet girl,
refined and presentable, docile, and mad about
you-until you got tired of her. You're bored with
her. A whole new world is opening up for you."
"You're a very smart woman, Francine, as I've
said more than once, but this time you're off the mark.
Yes, there's a little truth in what you've been
saying, but there's a whole lot more than that. A whole
lot that I don't care to discuss with you."
As if to dismiss her, Gerald stood up. "There'll
be no fuss and no publicity, I assure you. It
will be a painless proceeding, an agreement outside the
courtroom. I will
pay the costs, and I will support her as long as she
lives. Fair enough?"
"Fair? You bastard! And Jim trusted you! He's
turning in his grave." Francine shook her fist.
"Painless? You'll feel plenty of pain
before we're through, my friend. Now I'm going upstairs
to take care of my daughter, and the next time I see
you, you can bet it will be in a courtroom."
"Your mother took the children to school," Gerald told
Hyacinth when she came down well after nine o'clock in
the morning.
"I overslept," she said.
"It was the pill. You needed it. Are you feeling any
better?"
"How can you even ask that?"
"Sit down and have some breakfast."
"I'm not hungry."
"But you need to eat. When I heard you moving around
upstairs, I made French toast for you." He
got up and laid a plate before her. "This is warm,
the coffee's hot, and the orange juice is cold.
Freshly squeezed, the way you like it."
She had no desire for food, and yet the very act of
seating herself was followed mechanically by the act of
taking the fork into her hand. Habit, she thought; we
run our lives on its greased wheels. Here we
are in this kitchen together, not wanting to be together, but here
because we have done it for so many thousands of mornings. :.
Gerald began: "Your mother and I had some ugly
words last night, and I feel bad about it.
But it's hard to talk to her about what's happening without
being able to tell her the whole truth."
"You can't do that, Gerald. Francine has had enough
right now. My father died on the pillow beside her.
You're not to torment her with this arson talk."
"Agreed. You have my word. How many times must I
give it? Listen to me. If I didn't care about
you-was
"About me? No, no. I've had an awakening,
Gerald. Francine was right: I wasn't your
type, if indeed any one woman could ever satisfy
you." Her words were so caustic that they seemed to burn
in her mouth. "You wouldn't have married me if it
hadn't been for my father's help."
Did I know it then, on that cozy winter evening when
they played chess together? Did I know it and not want
to know it?
"I'm ashamed that I have lowered myself like a jealous
fool."
When he did not answer at once, she saw that he
was moved. Then he said very low, "I never planned
on a divorce, Hyacinth, Believe me. If it
weren't for this fire, I would ask you, as I have asked
you, to forgive me. And I would also ask you to go on
together. But now that can't be, and I'll tell
you why. There's talk about finding the person who set
the fire. They're already looking. A cleaning woman
who was at work that night in the brick building on the
corner claims to have seen a car. The only car
parked on the street so late. She remembers
thinking that it was odd because nobody lives on that
street, and there were no lights in any of the build
ings. Let's hope she doesn't remember something
about the car."
Hy struggled for air. She saw herself screaming,
helpless and hysterical, being dragged away to a
hospital, or to a prison. And she crunched her
fists in her lap.
"Fortunately, there are no fingerprints, at least so
far. Debris and water may have destroyed them, I
hope. But you see, you must see, that if you should
become involved in this, inevitably I would be,
too. And there goes my reputation. What a fine
heritage for Jerry and Emma!"
Still struggling for breath, Hy said nothing and only
kept looking at him. His hands, long-fingered and
graceful, were resting on the table. I used to take
them one by one in mine and kiss them, she thought. Once
I told him I would have died with him on the
Titanic,
and I would have done it. I would. And all that was on my
part, all that love, but never the other way. I see
it now. I was so young then, living a fairy tale.
Too young.
"You never loved me," she said. "I suppose I
can't blame you. One can't force love. I only
blame you for pretending you did."
"It wasn't all pretense." Gerald spoke as
if he were defending himself. "If it weren't for this
fire, for what you've done, we would finish our
lives together."
"No," she said, "we wouldn't. I couldn't
possibly stay in such a one-sided marriage and
keep my self-respect."
This was not what he had expected. He seemed
to draw himself up, as if his dignity had been
affronted.
"Well, in that case, we should have no problem. You
recall how I explained the way we'll do it?
No
courtroom, the whole thing uncontested, papers
drawn up in the lawyers' offices, no custody
argument, no trouble. We've about concluded the deal in
Florida, and since I'm buying the house as is,
completely furnished and ready to move in,
the children and I will be able to leave here by the end of next
week. The legal business shouldn't take more than a
few months. And I can always fly back to sign
whatever needs to be signed."
It took a few seconds for this to be absorbed
by Hyacinth's overburdened brain. "What did you
say?" she cried. "You're going to Florida with the
children?"
"Yes, of course." Gerald spoke mildly.
"You don't think I can leave them here with you in these
circumstances, do you? I thought you understood that I would
have to have custody of them."
A dam burst in Hyacinth. She began to scream.
Over and over, her screams rang, choking terrible
sounds with which a banshee or a tortured animal
tears the air. Gerald ran to the window and slammed
it shut. He shook her, grabbed her flailing arms,
and slapped her cheeks.
"My God, Hy, it's not that awful." He was
frightened. "It's for their good. I say and swear that you
may see them whenever you want. But we have to get them
away from here. Can't you grasp that?"
Her teeth were chattering. Never before had her teeth
chattered, nor had she had such a fearful pain in her
chest. She gasped, "You can't, you can't do
this!"
"Lie down," Gerald commanded. "I want you to lie
i down in there and listen to me. But first you're going
to : swallow some brandy. Now listen to me. Take
it, I said, i it won't hurt you."
"right-brace
Propelling her into the living room, he put her on
the sofa and handed her a glass. She hurled it to the
fireplace, where it tinkled and shattered. He poured
a second glass, and this time forced it down her
throat. "Now lie there, Hyacinth," he said,
speaking not unkindly but as a doctor might give
an order to a hysterical patient.
Flattened like a rag doll she lay, thick tears
draining toward her temples. Mocking voices
kept repeating:
Taking my children from me. Taking my children from me.
They would visit her in a prison. She would be
dressed in stripes. They would walk away from her in
terror. My children. My life. What has happened
to my life? Oh, Jim. Oh, Granny. Oh,
God.
Time passed, and her tears ceased. Opening her
eyes, she cried, "What are you doing to me,
Gerald? Do you hate me so much?"
"Hyacinth, I don't hate you at all. I care
about you. But don't you see that it is for their sakes?"
The deep, soft voice poured words meant to quiet
and calm. Hypnotic in their repetition, they forced
her to listen to them. Or
perhaps,
said another part of her brain,
it is the brandy that keeps me lying here while the words
flow.
"We'll do it quickly. We don't want
to attract attention. It's for everyone's good, yours
especially, Hy. You can't disafford publicity.
If they know that you and I have had troubles, they will point
a finger at you. It's only logical.
backslash
You don't know what clever detective work can come
up I with. These cases are never closed. They can
open a case
ars hence. If I were to demand custody in court, I
would 5 to reveal the truth, can't you see that? And
remenv
r this: It's best if your mother never finds out.
She's a
fighter. I admire her, but she has an idea she
can manage anything. If you ever tell hen
she'll get lawyers, and the truth will leak to the
newspapers, and that will be the end. Good God, I
don't want that to happen to you! But a man died,
Hyacinth. Remember that, a man died. And don't
worry about the children. There's a fine private
school, and there's an available nanny, a nice
middle-aged woman. No, don't worry about them.
Now close your eyes. I have to go out. Your mother should
be back soon."
She was still lying there when Francine returned and
stood over her. Now would come the quick questions, demanding
to be quickly answered.
"Have you had breakfast?"
"No."
"I saw Gerald making French toast. He said it
was for you. Expecting me, I daresay, to be
impressed by his kindness." "I didn't eat it."
"Did you speak to him?"
"Yes, we spoke."
"I didn't even look at him. I'll look at
him in court."
It was no doubt ungrateful of her, but she wished that
Francine would go home. There would be so much talking
now, and all of it useless, since it would only be
circling around a truth that was not to be
uttered.
"You need to have some food in your stomach. When did you
eat last?"
"Lunch yesterday."
"Stay there. I'll bring you something."
Francine made brisk noises. Her heels
clacked. In the kitchen, she clattered things.
Hyacinth, recognizing the sounds, felt the start of a
small, wan smile. It struck her as odd that she
was able to smile right now, and yet perhaps it was not so
odd: the smile was sad, a reminder of (normalcy
and of mundane things, like the purr of a refrigerator
or the rumble of a furnace.
"I've brought tea," Francine said, setting the
tray on the coffee table. "I couldn't find the
coffee. Now eat this egg. You need protein. And
I bought these muffins after I dropped the children off at
school."
"Aren't you eating anything?"
"I had breakfast where I bought the muffins. I
stayed away so you and Gerald might have your talk."
Francine's black patent-leather shoe was tapping
the carpet. She was nervous. But she said nothing
until Hyacinth had finished the breakfast, when she
removed the tray and came back with a
hairbrush.
"You need a brushing. Turn around," she commanded,
3nd when Hy obeyed, she assured her, "This will
be soothing. Your scalp's all tight. Do you know you
have beautiful hair? And don't say it's too
straight the way you always do."
The pleasant tingle and the steady motion of the brush was
making Hy feel drowsy again. Once Gerald had
explained that, while most people are unable to sleep when
they are under stress, some people escape their stress
by going to sleep. Maybe I'm like that, she thought.
Yes, I guess I am.
Sleep. Perchance to dream. Or never wake up.
"Tell me, did Gerald ever tell you that your
hair is beautiful? Or ever say things like that to you?"
"A long time ago, he did."
Francine made no comment but kept on brushing.
How good it would be to tell her everything, to drop it
all, past and future, into her lap, as a child comes
home from school with his problems and knows that there will be
aid for him! But she was not a child and had never wanted
to be one; she had taken good hold of life until
now. Now though, she was a victim... . And before she
could stop it, she gave a long, profound sigh.
Francine put the brush down and, moving
to a chair across from the sofa, began the parade of questions
that Hyacinth had expected.
"When and where did all this trouble begin? May I
ask? In Texas or here?"
There was no sense resisting.
Answer as many as you can,
Hy said to herself.
When you can't answer, you'll tell her so.
"If I look back very thoroughly, I suppose
I can find things even as long ago as Texas. And of
course one sees more the closer one gets to the now.
He flirted. Sometimes he was cross with me, though
never with the children. And he hasn't been very-very
affectionate. I thought he was overworked."
"I see."
There were the double vertical lines on Francine's
forehead. And in a sudden access of love for her,
Hyacinth cried, "Thank you for not saying 'I told
you so, I predicted it!" his
"That's all right, darling. I could just as easily have
been wrong. As a matter of fact, I have been
thinking most of the time until yesterday that I was
wrong."
There on the mantelpiece was Gerald's
photograph, taken on the day he received
his diploma from medical college. He had that
faint smile with the dimple in his cheek. I don't
believe I'm sitting here having this conversation, Hy
thought.
"He'll pay!" Francine cried. "You'll get
the best lawyer in the state. He'll pay in every
way, monetarily and in shame, for what he's done."
"I don't want to go to court, Mom. I don't
want his money."
"Not take his money? That's ridiculous,
Hyacinth. He
owes
you. Why, he never even repaid your father for what he
insisted-I remember it well-was to be only a
loan."
"Dad wouldn't accept it. You know that. Be fair."
"Fine, let that go. It has nothing to do with this
issue, anyway. And as for not going to court-that's
unheard of."
"I don't want to go. I simply don't..
We'll settle it out of court."
"Oh, what a stubborn fool you are! You've always
been stubborn, but this is the limit. It's absurd.
There's no other word for it."
Hy was reading Francine's mind. Yes,
based only on what she knew, it was absurd.
"All right, Hyacinth. Let's keep nothing
back. Did he say anything else when you spoke
this morning? Anything you might not want to tell me?"
A huge wall faced Hyacinth. Up and down its
length
she ran, feeling its immovable stones with the palms of
her hands, reaching into it for a hidden way through.
Your mother thinks she can control anything. She'll get
lawyers.
yom
can't afford publicity. These cases are never
closed. Twenty years for arson. And a man died,
a felony-murder in the second degree. A man
was killed.
"I asked you, Hyacinth, is there anything?"
Her mind had strayed so that it took another few
seconds before she could meet Francine's stern
eyes and reply.
"Only that he wants to take the children to Florida
for a while."
"For a while? What on earth are you saying?"
Francine's cry rang through the room and would have been
heard upstairs if there had been anyone up there
to hear it. "You are letting him take your
children away? I don't believe it!"
It was too much. Once victimized and now to be
attacked again from the other side was too much.
"Please, please," Hyacinth implored. was
"For a while," I said. Fran- cine, I can't
talk anymore. There's nothing I can do right now.
Nothing. Believe me."
"I believe you've lost your mind. What is it that
you're not telling me?"
"Nothing, nothing. I'm telling you all I can. Oh
please, let me alone. I need to be by myself."
"What is this hold that he has over you? Why, this
is blackmail! Don't I have any rights as your
mother? Why won't you talk to me? I'm the best friend
you have in the world, and you don't trust me." Francine
bent down and tilted Hyacinth's chin. "Look at
me. You can say any
thing to me, anything. Have you had an affair? That's how
it looks. It's all I can think of. Yes, you had
another man, and this is his revenge."
Now Hyacinth rose so that the two stood face
to face. "You're tormenting me!" she screamed.
"No, I have not had an affair. No, and no, and
no. Please. Go home and let me be. I can't
stand any more, I can't-was
"You're going to see a psychiatrist, Hyacinth.
We have to get to the bottom of this."
"I'm not going to see anybody. Let me alone,
I said."
"If you don't go, I'll bring one here. I'm
going to find somebody before this day is out."
"If you bring anybody here, Francine, I'll
run out of the house. I wish you'd go home and leave
me. Go home! Go home!"
When Francine left and the front door closed,
Hy went to the window, saw her mother get into her car
at the curb, get out of it again, and come back up the
walk to the door, where she rang the bell. The bell
was a chime, and it pealed through the house.
Hy stood with her forehead pressed against the wall.
I can't stand any more, she thought. But I have to live.
I have my children, and I have to live. Oh, leave me.
Everybody go away, you and everybody. I can't stand
any more.
The chimes pealed and pealed, reverberating through the
house. After a while, they stopped.
It is all habit, she thought later, as when this
morning she had sat down at the table with Gerald
only because she was accustomed to sitting there. So now according
to
custom, she began the day's chores, the tidying, the
fetching of the children at school and the preparation of the evening
meal. She was divided, one part of her peeling a
potato, while the other part watched her, a tall,
slender woman in a plaid cotton skirt standing in
a puddle of sunshine on a green linoleum
floor. , The supper was over by the time Gerald
came in. He had already eaten in town. He
inquired about her mother, and upon learning that Francine
had gone home, expressed his hope that she might be
feeling better.
"It's been a terrible year for her. She doesn't
deserve so much trouble."
Compassion, expressed as it was with such propriety,
was intolerable coming from the mouth of Gerald. Yet his
words in some way restored to Hy's ears the sound of the
doorbell's chime that morning; she saw, too,
Francine's car driving away down the street and was
suddenly filled with pity for her.
She went to the telephone. It rang and rang for a
long time. Could anything have happened to her, agitated
as she had been, on the way home? When finally
Francine's voice came, Hy blurted, "I'm
sorry about this morning. Are you all right?"
"The question is: Are you?"
"Well, I got through the day, and I'm here."
"So that's today. But what about tomorrow and the rest of the tms?
I hope you're giving some thought to them and changing your
mind."
"Francine, I can't change it."
"I have to tell you I'm very hurt. And yes, I'm
angry, too, that you won't talk about this. Whatever
you've
done in your private life is no business of
mine. But it can't deserve what Gerald is doing
to you."
If only it were the affair she believes I had,
Hyacinth thought, instead of what it is. My name in the
news, and my children tainted, even though fair-minded people
will say it isn't the children's fault.
"And what is he doing to Jerry and Emma? Is he
merely a beast, or is he out of his mind? I think
you both are. When is he bringing them back? And how
are you going to explain divorce to the children?"
"Oh please, Francine, don't make it harder
for me."
"When I left you this morning, I went to ask for
advice. So listen to me. If you do go ahead with this,
you have to tell the children very carefully. Otherwise,
they'll have all sorts of terrible thoughts, that
one of you is going to die, or that it's their fault.
They'll have nightmares, or start to misbehave. You
need to learn how to tell them, what words
to choose-oh, this is an outrage! Will you at least do
that much?"
The widow in her poor black dress.
Arson-felony. A prison sentence.
"I will. I will."
"And fight him, Hyacinth. Show your stubborn
side."
"I'll do my best."
"Where I went yesterday, the doctor said that if you
refuse to tell me what this is about, I must stop
asking you. So now I've stopped. I only want
you to remember that I'm here for you. I'm angry and
hurt, but Fm here."
When she put the receiver down, Hyacinth went to the
back door to look out at the yard, where Gerald was
playing with the children. Jerry and he were having a
boxing match, complete with feints, fists, and jabs,
while Emma, quite fascinated, watched from her
ringside seat on the swing.
Fight, Francine said. Very fine, except that when
you have no weapon, it's rather hard to do. Still, we do not have
to use the word
divorce
just yet, no matter what Francine says. This
trip to Florida can be a "vacation." They will stay
awhile and go to a new school, while Mommy stays
here because-well, because she needs to help poor, sick
Granny a little.
And the little while will be how little? Let me not think about
that right now.
They did not see her in the doorway, where she stood
drinking them in with her eyes. Jerry, showing his small
fists, was jaunty and tough; above his shorts, the
summer's tan was beginning to fade. Emma said
yesterday, with a wise nod, that Mrs. Darty-last
year's nursery- school teacher, about to retire at
sixty-five-was having a baby.
"Yes, she is. She is! She told me!" When
Emma was earnest, her braids bobbed.
And still Hy stood there. She was having such strange
thoughts, scraps of thought really, questions without answers.
Would Gerald be so fond of his children if, for instance, the
boy were like Moira's obese little fellow, who already
weighed half again what he should? Was it perhaps his children's
often-admired beauty that endeared them to him? Would
Gerald have trifled with other women if-
Let us not think about that, either.
Early one afternoon, Arnie came. There were cartons of
clothing in the front hall and boxes of books,
all Gerald's things that were waiting for shipment
to Florida.
"Finality," Hyacinth said as she saw him looking
at them. "The house is already starting to look
abandoned."
"Abandoned? Does it have to be?" And at her startled
expression, of which she was aware, he added, "I've
surprised you. Maybe I should stay away and keep
my big trap shut."
He was dressed in boots and the informal riding clothes
that he preferred, an open-necked, warm shirt and a
wide hat that he described as "semicowboy," It
crossed her mind as always that he looked twenty
years younger than he was.
"Come in," she said.
"You don't want me in the living room.
I'll'smell it up with horse."
He would, but it did not matter anymore whether the
living room smelled horsey or not.
"Come in," she repeated, and then, proceeding
to apologize for herself, "I'm a mess. I've
been getting Jerry's and Emma's things ready.
It's a bigger job than you'd think."
"And a sadder one. I feel terrible about this business,
Hy. I know I should stay out of it, only your mother
phoned me when I got back from the stable just now, and
that's why I rushed here. She's worried sick about
you. Thought maybe I could do something. She doesn't
know, and I don't know, why the kids are going and
you're not going. It doesn't make sense."
The familiar, friendly eyes made an appeal to her,
as if the man, knowing that he had no smooth
vocabulary, wanted to compensate with warmth for the
lack.
"Arnie," she said, "you're the kindest person. I
know you would like to help, to do something if you could, but you
can't."
"Can't patch it up? Do a little reweaving, the way you
do on an expensive suit? You don't throw it the
hell out."
Bereft of words, she threw up her hands.
"You can level with me, Hy. Gerald's told me
it's about Sandy. I always had my suspicions
anyway, you know. Geez, I'd have expected
better taste from him. Why, he's finished with her
already. Piece of junk, a tramp, a big
you-know-what, that's all. Ten years from now, she'll
be a tub of lard."
"It's more complicated than that."
She was wondering tiredly, and dreading, the number of
times she would have to dodge these questions and fabricate
explanations. First, of course, there would be Moira,
who in spite of her decency and affection would have to be
given the same evasions that everyone else would get.
And after Moira would come a stream of others, unless of
course the unspeakable truth should reveal itself. ...
"It was a stupid affair, not worth this, Hy.
Frankly, I don't understand either one of you.
Gerald loves his life, his work, the kids-was
Hyacinth interrupted, "But not me."
"Oh yes, he does, Hy. He's tickled
to death over your paintings, always talking about how you're
going to be
famous, always talking about what a great mother you are to the
kids."
"You don't know the whole story, Arnie."
"I know it's a mess. Your mother said Gerald
called her, and she hung up. Everybody's angry
at everybody. Everybody's worried. Gerald is
worried about you-was
Again, she had to interrupt: "I assure you Gerald
is not at all worried about me."
He shrugged. "Well, I don't know.
I want to be neutral. I liked you both, first
time I met you, and I still do. Gerald's my partner,
and a good one. I respect him. We're going to have a
great thing in Florida. I only wish you'd go there,
too. Why the devil can't you just buck up and go?
Take a chance that it'll work out fine."
Ignoring his question, she asked one. "Exactly when
are you all leaving? We don't talk very much,
Gerald and I."
"Week after next. Hy, this is awful, the kids
going without you. Seems like a dirty deal all around.
I can't make head or tail of it."
When she put her hands over her face, Arnie was
silent until she had gained control. It occurred
to her that, at least for the present, she must have cried
herself out.
"Whatever the trouble is," he said, "it can't last
forever. You'll change your minds, both of you. In the
meantime, I'll be in touch. I'll be going back and
forth. Got to get rid of the land under the building here.
It's worth a bundle. And I've got affairs
in New York, so I'll be running up here and
seeing you pretty often. Tell you about the kids.
I'll take them to the stables down there,
teach them to ride. I always promised, and
now I'm going to do it. They're great, cute
kids."
Suddenly there was nothing more to say. For a moment they
looked at each other. Then Arnie spoke
abruptly.
"You shouldn't go to the airport, Hy. Just kiss them
good-bye at the front door and run inside before they
see you cry."
"I know. Are you on the same flight, Arnie?"
He nodded and stood up. "Well, I'll be going.
I'll give you my numbers-you can call me whenever
you want, every day if you want, and I'll tell you
what's happening. But you don't have to worry.
Gerald loves those kids. You know that."
"I wish it was tomorrow. Do you understand?"
"Sure. I don't understand the whole business, but
I know what you mean. You want to get it over with.
Well, it won't be long. Only a few days.
They'll go fast."
And mercifully, they did go fast. On the final
one, Hyacinth smiled and kissed her children, who were
too thrilled with the thought of the airplane to care about
anything else.
"See you soon," she said as they followed the
luggage to the van and climbed in.
At the end of the walk, she turned back to the house.
There she stopped to read again, and yet again, a clipping
that Gerald had just put into her hand: "Reopening of
4-allyear-Old Mysterious Case of Arson."
CHAPTER TEN
First, after closing the doors of Emma's and
Jerry's rooms so that she would not have to look inside,
Hyacinth cleaned the house. The bed, which up until
a few weeks ago she had shared with Gerald, had
to be totally refreshed. The heavy mattress had
to be reversed, and she would do it even if it were to break
her back. The perfectly clean quilt must be sent
to the cleaners, and the pillows replaced. His clothes
closet must be scrubbed; even empty as it now
was, she could smell his cologne. There was to be no
vestige of him anywhere, not in the garage where he had
forgotten a torn old umbrella, nor in the hall
closet where he had forgotten his new raincoat.
Up and down through the house she went, lugging the
vacuum cleaner and a basket of dusters,
furniture wax, brass polish, and anything else
she could think of. Her thoughts were as frantic as her
legs and arms. How can I live with these thoughts? Right
here in town in the cemetery on Grove Street
lies a man who
died because of what I did. His children will grow up without
him-and my children will grow up without me. How can I bring
them back? How?
The telephone rang. Oh, please don't let it
be Moira again! She's tactful, she stays away
because she knows I don't want to see anyone. Still,
I can't keep telling her the children aren't in school
because Gerald has taken them on a short vacation.
She doesn't believe me. It's a stupid
excuse, but the only thing I can think of. I'm not
thinking very well.
It was Francine. This was the third time today. Her
voice was anxious, her question plaintive.
"Are you sure you don't want me to drive over,
Hyacinth?"
"It's a two-hundred-mile round trip for nothing.
But thank you anyway."
"Don't be formal with me. If I weren't able
to make the drive, I wouldn't offer. You might
remember that I care about you."
Dreading another round of insistent questions, Hyacinth
sighed.
"I hear you sighing."
"You think it's that I don't want you. The truth
is, I don't want anybody right now.
I need to be alone, to get my thoughts together, not that
my thoughts are worth much."
"What have you been doing today?"
"Cleaning house. Throwing things out, things like our wedding
photograph, for instance."
Now Francine sighed. "Take care of yourself,
Hyacinth. Call me if you need anything.
Promise?"
Like a mother, Hy thought. And she thought again, she could have
said "I
told you
so," and she hadn't done it. If I had only
listened to her! But then there would be no Jerry, no
Emma. My babies. In his hands. "This rage will
ruin me," she said aloud. "I have to stop it."
For several days, she did not leave the house.
Outside, the afternoon glowed with primary colors. The
first yellow maple leaves, a few fluttering red
oak leaves, and over all a pure, cloudless sky.
Winslow Homer would have painted this sky. She herself
had not touched a brush or even entered her studio in
weeks.
Without making any determination to do it, she sprang
up, took a sweater, and left the house. There was
time enough before the shops closed to get to the
bookstore and send two books to Emma and Jerry.
Jerry was always pleased to read to Emma. It would
make him feel proud and superior. She had a
vision of them sitting on the floor, or on the
bottom step-but what floor, or what step?
Arnie said that the children's rooms overlooked a
waterway, and that the house was beautiful.
To get to the bookstore, she had to pass what was
left of the office, a scorched relic, its windows
like blind eyes. The shine of prosperity and authority was
gone, destroyed like the fire of her first love.
A woman in passing stopped next to Hyacinth,
stared, and murmured, "Horrible. They say it was
deliberately set. I wonder whether they'll ever
find out who did it."
"I wonder."
Not wanting to have any further conversation, she went on
toward the bookstore. The wreckage had
produced in her mind a vivid picture of a man
falling through flames. The scream of terror! The
agony! An ice-cold shudder penetrated her
bones. Yet if I were to spend the rest of my life
in prison, she thought, it would not bring him back.
All this accident has done is to give Gerald an
excuse for getting rid of me, which, perhaps not
even fully realizing it, he had long been wanting.
So now he is free.
We made such a nice couple, or so I always
thought, both of us in our house, at our table with
guests, or on the lawn with our lovely children; an
enviable couple we must have been to many who were not as
fortunate as we. How deceptive is the
surface!
At the bookstore, still in this frame of mind, she
bought an easy storybook for Jerry and a picture
book for Emma that was filled with animals; many of
these were horses, in preparation for the promised visits
with Arnie to the Florida stables.
The man at the counter was friendly and talkative.
He, too, bought books for his grandchildren, he said, for
they were the most valuable present you could ever give to a
child. A well-spoken man, he could have been a
teacher. Yet in spite of his friendly talk, he was
nervous, "new on the job," as he explained.
Observing his wrinkled shirt and shabby tie,
Hyacinth was touched. What had brought him here, no
longer young yet still unsure of himself? She tried
to imagine his life, but of course could not, any more
than he could possibly imagine hers.
It was a long way home, but Hyacinth
walked slowly, There was no reason to hurry.
Nobody waited for her.
The autumn equinox was only a few days away,
and dusk fell abruptly at the end of the short
afternoon, so that lights were already shining in some windows. Where
no shades were drawn, you could see people in kitchens,
or a dining table with chairs around it, ready for use.
Arrived at the foot of the driveway, she looked
up at her own house, where no lights were lit. A
queer sensation flowed through her body, a feeling of
emptiness, a feeling of having no feelings, where for
so many weeks past she had been churning with conflicting
emotions. She had been a pot about to boil over.
All of sudden, there was nothing to do. After her
fanatical cleansing, the house was antiseptic, and
no single possession was even an inch out of place.
The spotless refrigerator was almost empty. Women
living alone were apt to neglect their nourishment;
well aware of that, it was nevertheless too much trouble for
her to prepare any food. So, taking a pear and an
apple, she sat down on the sofa and was starting to read
the newspaper when the telephone rang.
Jerry's hearty voice blared in her ears.
"Mommy! We have a puppy! Daddy took us where
they have so many puppies, and we picked out
our own. Then we bought him two dishes, one for
water and one-was
A scream interrupted the account. "Let me! I
want to tell Mommy! You know what kind he is?
A tannel, he's a tannel."
"He's a spaniel, stupid, a King Charles
spaniel. That's why his name is Charlie."
"I'm not stupid! Mommy, he's brown and white.
His tail is mostly brown, and I love him."
Her heart was pounding so! Where a moment ago there had
been chill vacancy, now all was melting soft and
warm.
"I'll send you a picture of him," Jerry said.
"Uncle Arnie bought me a camera-was
"It's for me, too."
"You don't know how to use it."
Now Arnie's voice came. "I'm going to show
Emma how to use it, Jerry. I meant it for both
of you. Let me talk to your mother a minute when you are
both finished."
She wanted to hold them on the telephone. She could
have listened to them all night. And her questions flew. As
soon as one was answered, she had another.
Yes, school was nice. It had a red roof.
Jerry had a friend, really two friends, because
they were twins, Jeff and Larry, and they were
ezackly
alike, ezackly! And Emma went swimming
yesterday. Wasn't it too cold? No, it was not in
the ocean, it was warm, in a pool. Didn't
Mommy know they had pools in Florida?
"And palm trees," Jerry added. "We don't have
any at home. When are you coming here, Mommy?"
"Soon," said Hyacinth, and corrected herself,
"I'm going to try to come soon. May I speak
to Uncle Arnie now?"
"I know what you want to ask," Arnie said.
"Everything's just fine. Believe me. I would tell
you if it wasn't."
"But are you able to talk right now?"
"Yes, Gerald's still at the office. I took an
afternoon off and stopped here to leave some papers for him.
Yes, everything's fine."
"Just say-do they miss me?"
"There are questions about
"when."
You understand? But contented and busy."
"I thought about Thanksgiving. If I could come then and
see them at my hotel? I don't want to go to that
house."
"I understand. Let's see what we can arrange. I
always tell you that Fm neutral, and I have to be, but
I'm with you, too, if that's not a cockeyed
contradiction."
"Bless you, Arnie."
After this conversation, she cried a little, controlled herself,
and returned to the newspaper in which she, an always
eager reader, now found nothing of interest. Then she
went, as she often did, into the deserted studio, there
to stand in silent contemplation of her work. There was nothing
more recent than last year's picture of Fran-
cine and Emma sitting on the garden bench in front
of a butterfly bush. It was the sort of scene that the
Impressionists always did so beautifully, and
Hyacinth was not so foolish as to rank herself with any of
them. Yet as she looked with a critical eye at
her own work, she knew it was good. Indeed, it was very
good.
Still, in these present circumstances, she could not-
nobody could-expect to find inspiration or energy for
art. Oh, she would go back to it! She must. But not
yet, not today.
Downstairs again, she put on a disk with quiet
piano music and lay down on the sofa in the den,
knowing well that she had been spending too much
time on that sofa, dozing, waking, fighting her fears,
and struggling to find some way out of the morass.
It was cold. Soon it would be time to start up the
furnace. The very thought of the long, dark winter that was
approaching made it seem colder still, and rising, she
went to the hall closet, where an old shawl of
Granny's had been lying since her last visit
months ago. The color was a dull maroon that
Granny liked and Hy did not, but it was warm, not
only of itself but because Granny had made it.
Wrapping it over her shoulders, Hyacinth lay down
again. After a while, her thoughts began to float along
with the tranquil nocturne. All the sweaters,
afghans, and little dresses for Emma that Granny's
hands had made!
And suddenly, she remembered something else:
We never went back for the dress in Parts.
Such a lovely dress it was, with roses running
down the front, and the rosy shoes to match. She could
still see every detail of it. With a little patience-no, a
good deal of patience-she could copy it, she could make
a Paris copy for her Emma.
Having sewn many a doll's dress in her time, she
knew exactly how to go about it. With a sewing machine,
she could have completed it in a day. But she had
none, and anyway, the French dress had been
handmade. If you were particular-or, as some people might
call it, "fussy"-you could certainly tell the
difference. The tiniest scissors were to separate each
leaf and petal from the flowered cloth, and the tiniest,
invisible stitches were to apply them to the fine white
linen background. This was to be a small piece of
art.
Working several hours every day until her eyes got
tired, she finished it in a week. With some
surprise, she
realized that it had taken all of her attention in the
same way that a painting did.
Now she made a plan. She would take this dress
to Florida herself, perhaps for Thanksgiving. Arnie
had promised to help her, and he would arrange the
visit. Gerald would be ashamed to make any
objection to it. Francine had also mentioned a visit
to the children, so perhaps they would go together. The children loved her.
And if she would promise to ask no nagging questions or
make reproaches, it could be very pleasant to go together.
Armed with this first ray of hope in so long, Hyacinth
took the dress with her and went out to the local
department store intending to find a pair of shoes for
Emma.
The R.j. Miller Company faced the town
square. Now part of a small chain, it was the place
that natives of the town Uked to recall as the source
of their baby clothes, their prom dresses, and their
bridal gowns. Hyacinth, by now a steady customer,
went directly to the shoe department, there to find, as
she had expected, that there was no rose-colored
match.
The saleslady, who knew both Hyacinth and
Emma, remarked that white shoes would be better than
black patent leather. "It's such a darling dress.
Do you mind telling me where you bought it?"
"I made it. I remembered one I had seen in
France."
"You made it yourself? What a lot of work that must have
been! Pd love to show it to Mrs. Reynolds up
in dresses. Would you mind?"
"Not at all." It was good, after so much silence at
home, to have even a few minutes' conversation with
anyone who didn't know her well enough to ask questions.
"Jerry hasn't been in school, Kevin says.
Oh, Florida with his father? Do they plan
to rebuild the office in the same place?"
And then she heard Moira, very gently:
"I'm not going to bother you, Hy. Whenever
you're ready to talk, let me know. Let me know
how I can help you."
"This is really outstanding," said Mrs. Reynolds.
"I'd like the buyer to see it. She's in the office
waiting for Mr. Miller. I'll ask her to come out
if you have time."
All the time in the world.
The buyer, Sally Dodd, a smart young woman in
black, was also impressed. "It has that French
look. Well, not every French look these days. But it
does have charm." Stepping back, she regarded the
dress. "It's interesting. Do you realize that
anybody of any age can wear it? Have you thought of
doing one like it in an adult size?"
"Not really."
"Would you consider it if I wanted one for myself?"
Hy was astonished. "Well, I don't know. I'm
not a professional. I mean-I don't know.
Sewing isn't even a hobby for me."
The smart young woman was persistent. "It's simply
caught my eye. It really has. I'm going on a
cruise, and I would love to have it."
Hyacinth was not only more and more astonished but
immensely flattered. Then came a feeling that the
suggestion was quite absurd. And that feeling
brought an
impulsive reaction: Why not? The evenings were long.
So why not?
"All right," she said. "Although I'm not going to make
a hobby or habit of it."
"I'll pay a top retail price. I'm about
your size, an eight. And I wear your length."
Hyacinth looked down at her old skirt, a good
tweed, the kind that lasts forever.
"I'm an eight, too."
"Good. I'm really thrilled. Will you take down
all the data, Mrs. Reynolds? Addresses and
all that? Excuse me, I see Mr. Miller coming
in, and I surely can't keep him waiting."
"Mr. Miller," Mrs. Reynolds explained,
although Hyacinth had not asked her to, "is the fourth
generation in the family. He used to work at the store
over in Ox- field, but he's been promoted
to supervise all six of the stores." Obviously,
she was enjoying this little break in the sameness of the day.
And she continued, "He's a very bright young man. A
lucky one, too. With all the changes taking
place in this world, the R. T. J.. Miller
Company seems to be keeping afloat."
Out again on the street, Hyacinth began
to feel foolish. With only a few seconds'
thought, she had promised to do something that a few more
seconds' thought would have regretted. Since when had
she become a dressmaker?
But having thus gotten herself involved, there was nothing
to do now but return to the shop and buy more of the
materials she had used for Emma's dress. After
doing that, she walked slowly around the square.
Temporarily at least, the tranquillity of this
old town was soothing. Time had not exactly stood still
here; you might say, rather, that it had slowed down. It
hadn't destroyed its past. The Civil War
monument stood in the center of the park that long before that
war had been a public green where cows grazed. In
the heart of the shopping district the Red Cross met
in an old clapboard house with the well still preserved
in the yard. There was a friendly comfort here, even in the
dry leaves rustling underfoot, and she dreaded going
home. The thought of turning the key in the front
door and walking alone into the empty silence was
forbidding.
Perhaps she should stop at the bookstore again and browse
for something new to read. Or perhaps go into the record
shop for new music. Or do both. And turning about
to recross the square, she reminded herself
of the times she had criticized people who spend idle
hours wandering around malls and Main Streets to gaze
in windows or spend money on things they do not need.
Ah, but now she knew that many of them were only trying
to escape whatever it was that they needed most to escape.
She was leaving the shop with two books and the sewing goods
in her hands, when a man coming toward her from the
opposite direction stopped.
"Didn't I see you a while ago in Miller's
dress department?" he asked.
"Why yes, I was there."
"I had a glimpse of you as I was walking in, and
then they told me about the dress you're making for
Sally
Dodd. There is an original story for you, I
thought: Our customer making a dress for our buyer."
"I'm a little bit sorry about it. I'm worried that
it may not turn out all right."
"Welt, if there is a risk, it's Sally who
took it, so I wouldn't worry if I were you."
Standing there on the narrow sidewalk, they were blocking
traffic. She would have walked on, but he seemed
to hesitate, which brought about an exchange of names,
Hyacinth for Will, and a question about her direction.
"Across the square," she said. "I'm on
my way home."
"So am I. Do you mind if I walk with you?"
"No, not at all. I go left at the corner on
the other side."
"So do I. I'm staying with friends on South Street
for a few days before my next stop."
She
had an impression of
horn-rimmed
glasses and
a cheerful mouth. It was a nice face, healthy and
ruddy, as if he had been in the sun or wind.
"I always enjoy staying here in this town. It's got a
lot of charm, old houses, and so much history. Before
Miller's was built-my grandfather had a dry goods
store here in 1910, a two-story-and-attic
affair-this park was three times the size it is now.
And way back, so they say, it was public grazing
land-oops!"
For the bookshop's paper bag had split, dropping
her two books to the ground.
Will picked them up. "Stephen Spender. "I think
continuously of those who were truly great." Do you know
it?"
was Yes. "The names of those who in their
lives fought for life-" How does it go? "Who
wore at their hearts-" his
M
"dis .. the fire's center. Born of the sun, they
traveled a short while toward the sun and left the
vivid air signed with their honor."
"Are you an English teacher?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
"Because I don't know many people, especially men, who can
quote poetry."
"If anybody had told me when I was getting a
master's in European lit that I would eventually be
working in the family stores, I wouldn't have believed
it. The funny thing is that a person like me is
supposed to be filled with regret, or even a little
shame, about leaving academia, and I'm neither. I
happen to like the business. I think I'm fortunate
to have this chance. Tell me, do you enjoy shopping at
Miller's?"
"Very much. I'm not a great shopper, but I can usually
find what I want there."
"Glad to hear it. I hope it wasn't a brash
question, but to tell the truth, it's part of my job
to keep in touch with the buying public whenever I can."
There was a mixture of earnestness and
self-mockery in the way he spoke. She liked
him. But then, as Gerald always had said, she liked
everybody.
Gerald. The name poisoned the air. Literally. It
darkened the air. It lowered gloom, which was not helped
by the fact that she was now about to enter the street where the
scorched ruin was being torn down.
"And what do you do besides sell, may I ask?"
"I don't sell. Pm a painter. I used to work
in a museum, restoring art."
"What kind of painting do you do? Tell me about it.
I'm an art lover and an art ignoramus, both
at the same time. Whenever I'm in New York,
I spend a couple of hours at the museums trying
to get a slapdash, flyby- night education."
"I don't know nearly as much as I'd like to know. I
just paint what I love."
She was staring straight ahead so as not to glimpse the
ruin. Nevertheless, she was conscious of his eyes upon
her. At another time, she would have felt that slight
frisson that comes to a woman when a man gives her
a look of admiration.
"It's a long time till dinner," Will said as they
came to a sandwich shop on the corner, "and I could
use a sandwich. What about you? Will you join
me?"
"Yes, I'll join you. I just remembered that I
had no lunch."
The place was messy. Mayonnaise oozed from the
sandwiches, and the coffee slopped onto the saucers.
Will smiled, took paper napkins from the adjoining
table, and wiped the saucers.
"Only one waitress," he said. "She's rushed
off her feet."
Gerald would have made a face and probably
reprimanded the woman. Am I ever going to get
Gerald out of my life? she wondered. Stupid
question. He is the father of my children and the master of my
fate. In half a minute, he can destroy me.
She sat up straight. Will was talking to her, telling
her about his father, who had not been well and should be taking
it a little bit easier; but he was a workaholic, and you
couldn't hold him down-
She must pay better attention. It had been weeks
since she had spoken to anyone who was neither
inquisitive, nor feeling pity, nor waiting for
her to produce some explanation. So this contact should have
been a relief. She ought to appreciate it and act
accordingly. Yet it could lead to a complication. His eyes
had traveled to her hand, on which there was no
wedding ring. Most likely he was going to ask when he
might see her again. Strange! Because really, she
looked like the devil. How else could you look, when
you had not been eating, had not been sleeping, and had
nor
been
exercising?
Now he was being very considerate, turning the conversation
away from R.j. Miller to the subject he thought
she would welcome. Did she find that the museums in
France were more enjoyable than seeing all the
Renaissance art in Florence? And was her own work
realistic or abstract?
The conversation veered to movies, with agreement on
comedy, tragedy, drama, and mutual condemnation of
violence. It continued after the sandwich, on the walk that
remained, and came to a halt at Hyacinth's
front steps. At that moment, the streetlamps
came on. Will looked at his watch, exclaiming,
"I had no idea it was so late! They are
expecting me at my friend's house. Oh, look at
that pair, perfect specimens."
The "perfect specimens," small and blond, were
being led on a leash across the street.
"King Charles spaniels,"
he
said. "I have one at home."
Hyacinth thought: My children have one now in Florida.
And the usual dart of fear, like an arrow, pierced her
middle.
"This was nice," Will said. "Will you give me your
telephone number? Here's a pencil."
She wrote it, shook hands, and went up the steps.
Without trying to see, she was almost sure that he was
watching her. Thinking, some young woman is going to be
lucky, she opened the door.
"No, Arnie," said Hyacinth, "I really can't.
I never want to hear his voice if I can
possibly help it."
They were having one of their customary telephone
conversations, whose frequency astounded Francine.
"Arnie is
unique," Francine astways said. "I can't think
of any man I've ever known, including your father, who
would take so much time and trouble to help somebody in a
crazy situation like this. He simply has to be in
love with you, Hyacinth. That's the only
explanation."
Ridiculous. Arnie was extraordinarily thoughtful,
that was all. He was an uncle figure,
younger than uncles usually are, but like a good one,
kind and patient.
"I'm pretty sure Gerald will agree, Hy,"
Arnie said now. "He told you that you will be able
to visit the children."
"He can just as easily say no, not yet, and I
couldn't bear that."
"Well, as I always tell you, I'm in the middle,
but what the hell, you seem to be a lot unhappier
than he is
over it all, so I do have to lean in your direction a
little bit. I'll tell him he damn well has
to let you have Thanksgiving."
"I so want to go. We can eat at my hotel.
Plenty of people celebrate holidays that way, although
we never have in all our lives. But if you have to, you
do what you have to, and I want to see them so badly
that it hurts."
"Take it easy, Hy, take it easy. You're
all worked up. I'll talk to Gerald and call you
back by tomorrow."
"Thanks, Arnie. I love you for it. Francine
loves you already. She wants to come with me, and though
I don't need her, I think it's a good idea.
The children always have fun with her."
"Well, you have fun. Me, I've got
relatives in New York. They're all old as
the hills, but they're expecting me, so I'll be
heading north for the holiday while you're heading south.
Well so long, Hy, and stay cool."
True to his promise, Arnie had everything
arranged: the agreement with Gerald, the plane
tickets, the hotel rooms with the best view of the
ocean, and Thanksgiving dinner, complete with
chocolate turkeys, in a private alcove off
the main dining room.
"It'll be home away from home," he said, "even
though Florida isn't usually your thing."
Francine, on being told of all this, could think of
no word for Arnie except "angel."
They were loaded down with gifts. Hyacinth had baked
favorite cookies in two flavors. She had
bought more books, a beginner's chess set for Jerry,
a baby doll
for Emma, who was already maternal, and clothes for them
both, including first and foremost the Paris dress.
"It feels like Christmas, not Thanksgiving,"
Francine remarked, "except when you look out of the
window. Then it doesn't look like either."
Below them lay a world of color:
blue-green water, scarlet beach umbrellas,
green palms, and the blazing white of sand. To the right
lay tennis courts, all occupied, and to the left
lay a fractional view of the marina with a bare
glimpse of what must be a sumptuous, gleaming
yacht. The entire scene was festive.
"Pm so happy, I'm afraid I'm going
to cry," Hyacinth said.
Francine made no comment. So far today she had
made no comments at all about Hy's affairs. Not
that Hy had really feared she would. Francine had
too much heart in her to spoil this day.
"Let's go down and wait in the lobby, Hyacinth.
It's half past, and they might be early."
"I hope the nanny brings them." She was dreading the
sight of Gerald, even at a distance.
"Don't worry. When he sees me, he won't
stay more than a second."
The. lobby was busy, not crowded to the point at which one
saw only a mass, but merely busy enough so that the
space was constantly in motion. While Francine
read a magazine, Hyacinth watched. Now down here
among people, the Florida scene turned personal, which
surely was the last thing she wanted it to do, yet she
could not prevent it. A beautiful young
couple with new
luggage were on their honeymoon. An old couple
sitting in the corner were laughing at some private
joke. A father was carrying a heavy toddle while his
wife carried an infant. And she sat there trying not
to see, while the earlier joy faded.
Francine glanced at her watch and returned to the
magazine. Hyacinth glanced at her own watch and
said nothing. The hour passed. A half-hour
passed.
"Holiday weekend," Francine remarked.
"Heavy traffic."
"It's not that far away, Arnie said."
"Even so."
Nevertheless, Francine was disturbed. Her tapping
foot made a soft slap against the marble floor. The
sound was exasperating. I'm a wreck, Hyacinth
thought, scolding herself for being exasperated.
"Perhaps we should phone," Francine said. "Give
me the number. I'll do it."
Hyacinth watched her walk away. Everything about her
was perfect-her hah; her posture, the black linen
suit, the white frill around her neck, and the single
gold bangle on her arm. Two men swiveled their
heads to look at her. She was older than
they, but even so, they looked.
"If your mother weren't so beautiful,"
Gerald had said. So many terrible things he had said.
And Francine had known he would. Odd, isn't it,
that she should be so wise and yet say such foolish things
herself sometimes? When I showed Emma's dress to her,
she said that even though she loved America, she wished
she were French.
Well, I suppose I say some idiotic things
sometimes. Here she comes. She doesn't seem
pleased.
"There's no answer. I can't make head or tail
out of this. Are you sure you have the time right?"
"Francine, I've been thinking of nothing else ever
since Arnie told me weeks ago."
"Well then, there's nothing to do but wait."
They sat without speaking. After a while, people began
to enter the dining room at the far end of the lobby. It was
the dinner hour. The two women questioned each other through
their worried eyes.
"Can there have been an accident?"
"No. They would have called us."
Francine stood up and abruptly spoke.
"We're going to the house. I'll get a taxi."
Hyacinth, silent as the mini-malls and
highway signs fled by, twisted the finger where the
paired rings had been; remembering then that they were gone
now, she folded her hands together between her knees and
tried not to think of bicycles that overturn, of
balls that slam into an eye, of drownings- Something
surely had happened. He couldn't possibly have
forgotten.
"This is it," said the driver at the approach to a
stone wall. "What's the number again?"
Francine gave it to him. At a booth outside the
wall, they gave their names to an attendant and were
admitted. A curving drive led past flawless
lawns, tennis courts, and oversized houses,
white or pink. There were lush, enormous trees and
vivid flowers. Shining cars stood in driveways,
and over it all was a gloss like a
reflection from the sky. Or perhaps the blue enamel
sky had absorbed a reflection from below. It was all
unreal, the setting for drama.
"Wait for us, please," Francine ordered when the
taxi stopped before another large, pink house.
"Get out, Hyacinth."
She was taking charge, which was something she had carefully
refrained from doing since the day of Hyacinth's wedding
and departure from the home-or no, since
long before that. Like an ambulatory patient being led
into an emergency room, Hyacinth followed her now
as she climbed the three steps and pressed the bell
at an impressive double door.
A woman answered. They had evidently
interrupted her work, for she was carrying a bottle of
window- cleaning fluid and wearing a surprised
expression.
Francine, losing no time with irrelevant
explanations, began briskly, "We've come for
Jerry and Emma. This is their mother, I'm their
grandmother, and where are they?"
"Why, they've gone for the holiday. Their father took
them and their nurse this morning."
"Took them away? Where to? Has anything
happened to them?"
"Happened? Why no, ma'am, they went to one of those
islands, the Bahamas I think it is. I forget.
Left me here to take care of the house and the dog."
Hyacinth held on to the wrought-iron rail beside the
steps. Her hands were limp.
Let Francine lead.
"But it was all arranged! The children were to stay overnight
with us at the hotel and spend Thanksgiving
Day. This makes no sense. Here we've
come all this way-it's outrageous!"
"Fm sorry, ma'am, but it's not my fault." The
tone was defensive, and the expression of surprise
had now changed to a flicker of curiosity mixed with
distaste, as if to say: So
this is the absent mother. There must be something wrong with
her.
"You would think Gerald could at least have let us know,"
Francine persisted.
"Oh, he tried, ma'am. I heard him say so this
morning when he went to the telephone to phone you at
home, but you didn't answer."
"No, indeed we didn't," Francine replied.
"We were on the way to the airport. It's beastly
hot. We've been traveling, and my daughter
isn't feeling well. May we at least come
inside and have a drink of water?"
"I'm not supposed to let anybody in."
"You're not supposed to Jet anybody drop dead
at your front door, either. Go in, Hyacinth."
As the door was held open for them, Francine said
grandly, "Thank you very much. So now we will just sit
here for a few minutes if you'll please bring the
water. You needn't worry, we're not going to steal
anything."
She knows we won't, thought Hyacinth. She's already
noticed Francine's diamond.
The room in which they sat was open to a sea breeze.
Long windows led to a terrace. Under an enormous
tree-did they have banyan trees here in
Florida?-lay a big, round sandbox with scattered
toys on the grass. Across the hall was a light
yellow dining room, the very yellow of the one at home,
Hyacinth saw, with a crystal
chandelier above it. And under the curve of the stairs were a
doll carriage and a pink three-wheeler. So Emma
must have grown at least an inch and a half, she thought,
and she thought too that she must not get sick here in this
place. Must not.
Having brought water on a silver tray, the woman
stood before them, hesitating. With awareness now so
acute that neither a ripple of the curtains" folds
nor an eyelid's flicker escaped her,
Hyacinth felt the questions hanging in the air between the
three of them.
"Was there any reason that they had to go in such a
hurry?" asked Francine.
"Well) the lady who invited them was Cherry-you know
Cherry on TV? With long red hair? The one who
sings with the Rub-a-Dubs?"
"I've heard the name," said Francine,
"Well, she's a friend of the doctor's. She comes
here sometimes when she's not in California. Comes to this
house, I mean." The narration had begun to flow.
An entirely natural and increasingly visible
curiosity was combining with pride in being the purveyor
of important information. "If you ask me, I think
Doctor did some work on her face. And she's not
his only famous patient. I could name-oh, I could
name-of course, I don't work in his office, but when
there's company here at home, and you wait on table,
you can't help hearing things."
A dream, all a dream, Hyacinth thought. This
house. Gerald, Junior-
"We'll call him Jerry, with a right-brace ."
His merry eyes. Emma, a small, alert
Francine. Her rose
dress in a box at the hotel. This pompous,
tufted chair in the corner. The sea breeze on
my face. All a dream.
Francine asked when the children were expected back.
"Late Sunday night. In time for school on
Monday."
She asked whether the children were happy.
"Oh yes, ma'am, yes. Their father's
real crazy over them. And the nanny is, too.
That's Mrs. O'Malley. But here, she's
Nanny. Got married grandkids of her own. You
should see the toys upstairs-they could open a store.
The other doctor, they call him Uncle Arnie you
know, he's like Santa Glaus when he comes. He
takes them riding. Their father bought a pony for
Jerry, and now Emma's got bigger, he got her
one, too, last week. Oh, those kids have everything.
Name it, and they've got it. It's a wonder they
ain't spoiled."
The woman at that group meeting said her boy fell
in love with his father's house by the lake. It happens
all the time.
"Would you like to see their rooms, ma'am?"
The question had been directed to Francine, but
Hyacinth shook her head.
Francine answered promptly, "I'd like to see
them."
"But I want to leave now," said Hyacinth, and
to herself, protested: I do not want to see the beds where
Jerry sleeps his tidy sleep and Emma lies in
a mound of dolls and animals.
Francine, giving her an anxious glance, stood
at once, and Hyacinth, thinking, I must
look frightful, rose also.
"Who shall I say was here? Your names?"
"Just say the children's mother and their grandmother were here and that
we'd like an explanation. Thank you very much. Have a
nice day."
"Explanation," Francine repeated, back in the
taxi. "You really don't think we'll get one, do
you? Are you all right? You're hot going to faint or
do anything crazy, are you?"
"That wouldn't do much good. No, I'm numb, that's
all."
By now it was dark. The view from the car's window was a
rewinding reel under pulsing lights; mall,
furniture outlet, pizza parlor, used cars,
another mall-all these appeared and vanished. They were
almost back at the hotel before either of them spoke again.
Francine was first. "Never in my entire life have
I been in such a rage. I'm grinding my teeth.
What are we going to do now?"
"Fly home, I guess."
"Just turn around and go back after being here for six
hours?"
"I surely don't feel like stuffing myself on
turkey at the hotel tomorrow, do you?"
"No. Oh for God's sake, Hyacinth,
if you'd only talk to me. I feel like a blind
person wandering around some foreign country without speaking
their language, and I'm getting tired of it. A
day like this takes ten years off a person's life."
"I didn't ask you to come along. You wanted to."
"All right, all right. This is no place for an
argument, anyway. I'm going to have some food sent
up to the room. Let's eat together and talk this
over."
You wouldn't believe that a human being who was so worn
down could feel hunger, thought Hyacinth, but I
suppose the body wants to live even when the mind
doesn't particularly care. And yet of course, of
course my mind wants to. Or it would if it
only knew how. And pushing the empty plate
away, she looked across the table at the night sky,
where stars in small islands floated upon a sea of
silver-gray clouds, racing and foaming across the
hemisphere. Turner could have painted it, she thought,
recalling his pale sunsets, all pastel mist and
vapor. So much beauty, so much color and life under
the vast, mysterious sky, and only man defiles
it.
Francine's voice jolted her. "You always went
to ask your grandmother's advice-when you needed
any. Why won't you ask for mine now when you need
it? How do you think I feel about that?"
"Please don't be hurt. I am not going to ask
anyone for any advice. If I were going to, I
would ask you first."
"This is beyond understanding, Hyacinth. I had not planned
to bring up the subject during this holiday because I
wanted us to have only joy with Jerry and Emma. But
now that that's been ruined, I might as well speak
my mind."
"Speak it. I won't argue with you. I'll just
listen."
"I am completely frustrated. I have to admit that
when I went to another source for professional
advice, I got the same advice again: Your
daughter is a grown woman, and if there is anything
she won't tell you, then you have to let her alone."
"That's good advice."
"No. It's like saying, well, she's an adult,
she's sixty or eighty or twenty years
old-whatever-so it's her right to take poison or
jump from a bridge if she wants to. Don't
question her. Don't stop her."
"I don't want to take poison or jump from a
bridge, I promise you."
"I get the feeling sometimes that you do want to.
All that stops you is your children."
Hyacinth was silent.
Francine, in agitation, got up clumsily and
rattled the dishes. "This is a case of
blackmail. It doesn't take a rocket
scientist to figure that out, or to figure out, too,
that it has something to do with sex."
"You've told me that before. You're convinced that it's
adultery. I had an affair, and he caught me."
"Well, and if you did? It happens. You could
fight that easily in court. My God! He
admits his own adulteries. Why won't you get a
good lawyer? Give me a good reason why."
"I've told you, I don't want to go to court, and
I haven't changed my mind."
Francine walked to the end of the room and back. I
pity her, Hyacinth thought, even more than I pity my
children. Right now they are probably having a good time
without any worries.
"What is it that makes you so fearful? A
hit-and-run accident? Have you been caught
shoplifting? Whatever it is, you need to confide in a
lawyer. That's what they're for. If you'd let me,
I'd find the right one for you. Your father had so
many friends and contacts."
The final wreckage. This is exactly what
Gerald pre
dieted Francine would bring about. It would alf come out
into the open, and it would then depend on the lawyer to get
a reduced sentence for her. Fifteen years instead of
twenty? With time off for good behavior?
"I appreciate it, Francine, but I already have a
lawyer. Right now we are drawing up the papers, which
I will sign."
"Papers! Pray God you're not signing your life
away. You see today how you can trust his word, don't
you? He's evil. Evil! As long as he can live
as you've just seen, a prince in his palace with no
obligations he doesn't want, he'll see you on
the streets."
"You're wrong about money. He's been sending
checks every week, sizable checks," Hyacinth gave
a short, scornful laugh. "I send them back."
"You what?" Francine was furious. "I don't
believe what I'm hearing. I thought you had some
intelligence. A normal woman would take all
she could get out of him and try for more, considering what
he's doing. There'd be no limit to her hatred."
"There's no limit to mine," Hyacinth said
very low. "That's the reason I won't take his
money. I want nothing from him. I don't even
want to touch the paper that he touched when he wrote the
check. I want to forget that I ever knew him."
"That's rather" hard to do, given the existence of Emma and
Jerry."
"Please. Let's not be angry at each other. The
day is bad enough as it is."
They stood there looking into each other's sorrowful
eyes, until Hyacinth broke the stillness.
"I wonder why he did this to us today. Can it
possibly give him any pleasure to be so
cruel?"
"You know, I don't believe he thought much about it
at all. He telephoned, we had already left, so
that was that. He was too thrilled about the celebrities
at Cherry's place to think about anything else. He
was only being Gerald, the real Gerald. Come,
let's pack these presents and take them home in the
morning. Tomorrow's another day."
Back home again, outside of the supermarket,
Hyacinth came face to face with Moira, who was
unloading a heaped food carriage into her car.
Hyacinth, with one bag in her arm, was walking home.
"You'd think," Moira said, "that
nobody'd ever eat again after stuffing himself on a
holiday, but here I am."
In her kindly way, she was making easy conversation,
as if the two of them were seeing each other almost daily
as they had done before Hyacinth's life changed.
"So you've been seeing Emma and Jerry. How are
they doing under the palm trees?"
"Oh fine, Moira. They're in a very good school,
didn't mind the change. We had a good time, my
mother went with me, the weather was fine, just balmy-was
Lie. Why not lie? It doesn't hurt her, and
it's easier for me.
"You're not sunburned, I see."
"No, not in those few days. I never like to anyway.
I'm not a sun lover."
"Do you want a lift home?"
"Thanks, no. I need the exercise. It'll
keep me'from spreading."
She stopped, ashamed of herself. What a stupid thing
to say to Moira, who, still only twenty-eight, already
had at least twenty extra pounds of spread on her
bones! The matter with me is that I'm not thinking.
I'm befuddled. And the jaunty act that I put on
doesn't fool her for one minute. Go on and make
amends. Make some amends, at least.
"The reason I haven't seen you, Moira, is that
I've been in bad shape, not very good company. That's
why I let him take the children when he moved. It's
better for them until I straighten myself-until
things are straightened out. It's temporary, only
temporary, you understand. I should have called you
to explain. You've been such a friend."
"Don't give it another thought, Hy. Just take
care of yourself. You've had a lot of trouble, but I have
to tell you that no body'd ever know it. You look
wonderful."
"Thank you. I try. I have to get ready for
Christmas, and it-"H be here before you know it.
They'll be flying up from Florida."
That at least was the truth, for Arnie had made the
Christmas arrangements.
"Gerald asked me to telephone you after you hung up
on him. He's been really upset. He never
intended to have it turn out that way. When he left the
message on your answering machine that morning, he
had no idea you had already left so early. I am
telling you the truth, Hy. I suggested that he make
up for the mistake at
Christmas. So the kids will
fee
flying in on the twenty- third, and I'll be with them.
Gerald knows, of course, that you don't want him.
So just put some extra water in the soup for me."
"That's great." Moira was enthusiastic. "We'll
have to get together with all the kids. Do something nice and
have a good time."
With a repetition of "Take care," she drove
away. Not everyone, perhaps not anyone, would have let me
go so easily, thought Hyacinth. She, loyal as she
is, will be the one who checks the gossip the next time
she finds herself in a group, whether at a PTA
meeting or a Little League game. Wherever women
gather and talk about what is happening in the
neighborhood, they will speculate about the strange
affair of Hyacinth and Gerald. Moira will do her
best to stop it, but it won't work.
Weil, that's only human nature, she was thinking,
when on entering the house, she heard the telephone
ring. That was a rare sound so early in the day; usually
at that time it was Francine, who never missed a
morning.
This time, though, it was not Francine. It was Will
Miller.
"I phoned you the day before Thanksgiving. I
didn't leave a message because I thought you
might have forgotten me. Anyway, I'm in town for the
day, and if you'd like to have an early dinner with me, I
would like to have an early dinner with you. Will you?"
There followed a thousandth particle of time in which
electrons and neutrons whirled through Hyacinth's
head, and there was no solid thought, but only fragments
of it such as: He knows nothing about me. What if
I'm seen?
I have nothing to say. I don't know anymore how
one talks to a man. I'm too tired to bother.
I'm burned out. This is all fraudulent. I
don't want to go.
"Why yes, how nice of you," she said.
"Great. Since I have to get back early
to Oxfield, would you mind six-thirty?"
"That happens to be my favorite time. I always like
early dinner."
"I'll come by for you at a quarter past."
The moment after the phone clicked off, and if she had
known where to reach him, she would have called back and
made an excuse. At any rate, it was too
late now
t
and she was annoyed with herself.
On the other hand, it might be enjoyable
simply to avoid the long evenings in which, after getting
tired of reading or listening to music or watching
television, tired and determined not to succumb again
to fright and tears, she had no choice left but bed and the
hope that she would not lie awake listening for the creak of
settling wood.
Upstairs, she glanced at a mirror. Moira
had said she looked wonderful, but there was no possible
reason why she should. The effect of weight loss on
an already slender face is not supposed to be
flattering. Lingering now to study this effect, she found
it on the contrary to be rather good. There were no hollows in
her cheeks, yet the faint shadows underneath her eyes
did seem to have made them grow larger. The long
hair falling along her cheeks gave her a
Renaissance look, not necessarily beautiful but
interesting, perhaps even mysterious.
"Get real. You are one big, damn fool!" she
exclaimed, and was upbraiding herself for being one when the
telephone rang again, surely Francine's ring this
time.
They spoke briefly, as usual. A covert
decision had jointly been made not to discuss the
issue that lay like a burning coal between them. The
reason for Francine's calls was motherly.
She wanted to know about Hy's plans for the day.
"Believe it or not, I've been invited to dinner
tonight," Hy reported, and went on to explain Will
Miller.
"But Hyacinth, you don't dare. That's all you
need, to have Gerald find out that you're running around with
men on top of whatever else it is that he's already
got against you."
Running around with men.
Hyacinth felt a chill. If that were really all
Gerald had against her!
"You're right," she agreed, "although this is totally
innocent. I told you, it's only on account of that
dress I made for Emma."
"No matter. You can't be seen anywhere with another
man until the divorce is final and the papers are
in your hand. And if you ever want to get your-was
Children,
she meant. Hyacinth, letting that pass, promised
that this would be the only time.
"I don't know where he is, so I can't call it
off, you see."
"Well, go someplace where you won't know anybody.
Do be careful."
As it happened, Hyacinth could hardly have
been more careful. The chosen steakhouse was in a
remodeled
barn half an hour's ride from town; popular in the
warm seasons and on weekends, it was unfrequented
now in midweek and in a drenching December rain.
There were no more than three or four couples far apart
in the large room. The fireplace glowed, and
conversation was low.
"Very cozy," remarked Hyacinth.
"I thought you would like it. I thought it was your kind of
place."
"But you don't know me," she said.
"One gets a feeling about people."
"Sometimes one is mistaken."
"Very true."
It was also true that, as she had feared, she did not
remember how a woman starts a conversation with a new
man. Once married, unless you were out in the world, you
only met other women's husbands, and then your own
husband was generally present. You didn't
address
a njian. She certainly didn't
address
Arnie, or treat him any differently from the way you
would treat a kind and conscientious cousin.
He took off his glasses. "I really need them
only for reading, but when I'm at work, I keep them
on so I won't lose them- I'm a great one for
losing things-car keys, gloves, anything."
She smiled acknowledgment. His eyes were deep set
between prominent cheekbones and forehead. They were at
once lively and earnest.
"So tell me," he began, "about Stephen
Spender. Have you gone through the complete collection?"
"Yes, I took it along on a plane trip
to Florida and
back. I kept thinking all the time that he was a man
I would like to know."
"Yes, you do feel like that when you read or see
anything really great. I would like to have met the
sculptor who made the statue of Lincoln in the
Memorial. So I know what you mean. Do you like
Florida?"
"I don't know it well enough to like it or not. This was a
very short visit."
He was waiting for her to continue. And she knew that the
pause was awkward. It was like one of those horrible
moments at a party when a dozen people who have been
talking crisscross around the dinner table all
suddenly fall silent. He was probably
thinking with regret that he had misread her; the first time
in the coffee shop, she had been reasonably
sociable, but not now. What could he know of the turmoil
inside her, the sense of guilt because she was here under
false pretenses?
"What is it?" he asked gently. "I see so many
changes of expression on your face. But if it's
none of my business, and I know it isn't, tell
me right now."
"I'm worried," she said, making a quick decision.
"I'm in the middle of a divorce, a nasty one, as
I suppose most of them are."
"I wondered. I didn't think anybody would
live alone in a house that size."
"Right now I am alone in it."
If he were to ask whether she had any children, what would
she say? When he did not ask, she was thankful for
not having to repeat the faltering explanation of their
absence that she had given to Moira.
"And so what do you do with your time while you wait for the
worst to be over?"
"Well, I'm an artist, as I told you, although
I am afraid I haven't been working at it
lately as much as I should."
"Understandable. Do you work at home?"
"Yes, I have a good room for it, northern light and
all."
"May I see it sometime?"
"Oh, surely. You may be disappointed, though."
How coy that was, an arch reply that made her
feel absurd, as if she had been fishing for a
compliment. Words simply were not coming to her tongue.
Making no comment about that, he asked instead about the
dress that she was making for Sally Dodd.
"I've scarcely begun it, to tell the truth. I
wish I hadn't undertaken it."
"But you did promise it," he said gravely, "and
she's waiting for it."
"I know. I'll do it."
"In time for her cruise, you remember."
"Yes, yes." And she repeated, "I'll do it."
His eyes were so intense! Like opals, their lucid
gray had flecks of green when the candlelight
flickered past them. Nothing would escape those eyes;
they would see through you, your pretensions, your evasions,
and your falsehood. No, she would not see him again,
not just because of Francine's reason, which was a sound one,
but for some other reason that she could not name.
"Where did you learn to sew?" he asked.
Glad of
a.
changed subject, she answered promptly, "My
grandmother taught me. She's the last of her breed,
I think, a totally domestic woman, born in
1910. She made an art of everything from cooking
to hooking rugs. And cleaning floors, too, I
shouldn't wonder."
"I had a great-grandmother like that. I never knew her,
of course, nor the other one, either. That one was
different. She-worked with her husband in the first R.j.
Miller store. "We have a dark brown
photograph of that store in Oxfield, taken in
1879. The two of them are standing at the doorway,
and there's a buggy parked on the street. The street
is a wide dirt road in the heart of Oxfield.
I wonder what they'd say if they could see it
today." Will chuckled. "They were a great pair, or so
I'm told. I guess the higher you climb on the
family tree, the more virtuous the ancestors
become."
He went on to explain how the business had grown,
and she paid him the compliment of listening carefully.
Actually though, his account was interesting. As the
daughter of a salaried chemist and the wife of a
doctor, she knew almost nothing about
business, how risks are taken and money is made
or lost.
Freed of tension for a while, Hyacinth began
to relax. Will had some marvelous stories to tell,
such as, for instance, the time a new salesman, not
recognizing the head of the company, refused to show him
a certain leather belt because "it wouldn't be right. This
belt is too expensive for you." She liked his
sense of humor. There was nothing caustic or mean
about it. He had as well an appealing modesty.
She had made a comment about an Indian sari shown in
Miller's window, and from there the
talk had drifted toward far places. He had
seen Burma and Tibet. But unlike so many people who
would leap to display and brag about what they had seen
there, he made little of it.
He's different, Hyacinth thought. So many people are
only poor, thin surface. But he has depth.
And she thought again how sometimes when you open a new
book and read the first page, you do not want to put it
down until you have read it all.
They drove back through the town past Miller's
windows, around the square, and into the street where
Arnie's building had burned down.
Will remarked, "I happened to be here that
day, driving in very early. It was a fearful sight, the
gathering crowd, the ambulance, and the flames that you could
see through the broken windows. There's talk, or so
I've heard, that it was arson."
"I didn't know."
"It was a fairly new building, too. Now you
take an old firetrap like ours over there on the
square, and you really worry. If I were in charge,
I'd take it down and put up something with every possible
safeguard. But you'd be surprised at the
objections you hear. There's something about the old and the
familiar that a lot of people love to keep. They find
it's quaint, I suppose. Others would call it
dowdy. Difference of opinion."
Now, for the rest of the short way home, she neither
heard nor cared what else he would say. She had
only an awful sense of the sword suspended above
her head.
At her door, Will took her hand. "You know I
want to see you again," he told her, "but I won't
press you this
minute. I hope you'll soon have your divorce behind
you."
"I hope so," she said.
"I'll be away until after New
Year's. I'll see you when I get back."
Watching him go down the walk and get into his car,
she thought as she had the first time: Some young woman is
going to be lucky.
But there's no way Til see him again. I'm sure
he thinks I want to, and I'm sure most people would
assume that I do, but I don't. I don't want
any man, not any man, ever.
Hyacinth had set the Christmas table with the same
care she would have given to a formal dinner for twelve.
Four candles surrounded the centerpiece of pink and
red carnations, the flowers a present from Arnie,
accompanied incredibly by a magnificent Danish
silver bowl to hold them-all given as casually as
one might give a piece of pottery. The children's
milk was served in wineglasses. From the china to the
nuts and dates in their traditional dishes, the
family's traditions had been kept.
Dressed for the occasion, they sat in their usual
places. Jerry and Emma, she proud and pretty
in the rose dress, sat at Hyacinth's left, and
Francine at her right. Only the composition of the
family had changed. A chair that would have been
Jim's now stood against the wall. And the chair in which
last year at this time Gerald had presided
was occupied by Arnie who, though not a member of the
family, was surely doing his best to warm the
atmosphere.
Hyacinth was also doing her best to ward off a
gloomy, chilling sense of flying time: In a handful
of days, in a few hours, it would all be over. The
cheer was false. For two weeks past or longer it
had deluded
her.
Deliberate in her joy, she had fooled herself with
all the "normal" preparations, buying presents,
baking and cooking, and opening the two bedroom doors
that had been shut. It had begun to snow, and she had
even bought new sleds, one of them for herself; they would
drive out to Nod's Hill, take sandwiches and a
Thermos of cocoa. They would-oh, these "normal"
preparations! She could barely talk to them without being
afraid to break down! So far she had not done so, and
pray God that when the rime came for them to leave,
she would not do so.
Emma was making an announcement: "It doesn't
snow in Florida. Mommy, don't you hear me?
I said it doesn't snow in Florida."
"Everybody knows that," Jerry said.
"Who cares?"
Last summer Emma would either have cried or become
indignant at that. Now she had learned to give a
scornful retort. She was preparing for kindergarten,
getting ready for the real world. If you don't see a
child every day, if you have to wait weeks or months,
you'll be seeing a new child each time. You'll have
missed everything.
"How is Charlie?" asked Hyacinth,
Emma replied, "He doesn't weewee in the
house anymore. Daddy taught him not to."
Without intending to, Hy glanced at Francine.
There
had been surprisingly little mention of Daddy since the
children's arrival, she thought, but each time there had been
a barely visible change in Francine's face.
Anyone familiar with her usual animation would know that
she was being too quiet. And I was hoping she would
keep up the chatter. Instead, it's Arnie who
fills and refills the silences that make children
restless. He did so now.
"Tell about my new horse, Jerry."
"Oh, yeah. It's a Tennessee Walker, so big
--you should see. And you know what color? Pinto. That
means spots. Brown spots on white. I can't
ride him, he's too big. But Uncle
Arnie's teaching me to ride the pony."
"Nanny takes me to visit the stables sometimes,"
Emma said. "And then I can get a ride. Daddy
doesn't come. He likes his boat. He takes
us on his boat. It has sails,"
"That's nice." Hyacinth smiled. Boats and
horses, she thought. I suppose they're only
different in degree from the toys in their rooms
upstairs now. We're both buying love. But never
say anything against Gerald. Don't poison their
minds. You will only hurt them. It's elementary.
Francine knows that, too.
"When are you coming to Florida with us, Mommy?"
Emma asked. "I miss you."
"She cried," Jerry said. "I didn't because I'm
older, and besides, I told her we can come here to see
you. Daddy said so."
Now Emma wailed. "But why? Why do we have to come
here to see Mommy?"
Of the three adults, none had an immediate answer
until Francine said, "You see, Granny is
sick, and your mommy wants to stay near her for a
while."
"Granny can go to Florida, too."
"No, Emma. She's too old."
"Then you stay with her. I want Mommy to come
to Florida."
Why doesn't he just die, thought Hyacinth. Just
die and let the rest of us live in peace. But no,
he will live to be a hundred. So it's I who should
die....
"I think you're getting a divorce," Jerry said.
"That's what it is."
He was waiting for an answer. We should have told
tfeem right away. I guess we-I-thought something
might happen, some magic, some miracle, and all
this pain would go away. No, actually I knew it
would have to be done and was only putting it off until the
paperwork was finished, and then there'd be no more excuse.
"You're probably right," Arnie said, coming to the
rescue. He spoke calmly, as if a divorce
were really nothing much, nothing to get excited about.
Well, in many places, it isn't. Perhaps not even
for children these days, it isn't. But not for my children. My
children are soft.
"A lot of kids in my class," Jerry said
importantly, "a lot of them have parents who are
divorced. But they all live with their mothers. The dad
comes to visit."
Arnie agreed. "As long as you can see them
both and everybody's happy, there's nothing to worry
about."
Emma's eyes were wide, and her mouth about to tremble
with a sob. "Are you happy, Mommy? Don't you
want to live in our house?"
stOur house.
How do you answer that? Then mercifully, inspiration
came. "We can have two houses and can take turns
and be very happy."
How am I able to do this? In another minute, I'll
crack.
As if Francine had guessed how close
Hyacinth was to that cracking, she stood and brightly
gave an order. "Kids, we can talk about this
later. The cake is out of the refrigerator, it's
got chocolate whipped cream on top, and we need
to eat it right away. So each of you take his plate
and help me clear the table. Your mother's done all the
cooking, so now it's our turn."
From her seat facing the window, Hyacinth saw by the
streetlamp's glow that it had begun to sleet.
"Sleet," she said, and ran not so much to pull the
curtains closed as to control and hide the start of
tears. By his silence, she understood that Arnie was
making it easier for her to hide them.
Somehow, when you looked at him or heard his speech,
you would probably not expect him to have such delicacy
of feeling. And yet this was not by any means the first time
he had revealed it.
The dessert was superb, a specialty out of
Granny's recipe book. It brought the silence of
appetite and satisfaction to the table. Only
Francine, who was a self-styled "chocolate"
freak, hardly touched it. When several portions had
been had and the cake was demolished, she spoke.
"Hyacinth, it's been a long day, and it's late.
Why don't you go up with Jerry and Emma? You have
lots to talk over, while I clean up. No,
don't protest."
What she meant was: Talk to them about the
divorce.
1 can't do it, since I really don't know anything
about it, do I? And besides, it's not my place to do it.
You're their mother.
Francine was even angry at the dishes, which had
been part of Hyacinth's "trousseau." Jim had
urged them on her after Hyacinth had said that they were
outrageously expensive. "But you love roses,"
he had told her. Fran- cine recalled the time
distinctly, a dark afternoon, a freezing snow
like tonight's. But who could have foreseen this night? Even
she, with all her doubts, could not have imagined it.
"Let me help you," Arnie said. "I know all
about dishes. I'm a bachelor."
Gerald, too, had liked to make himself useful, at
least at the start, when it was essential to ingratiate
himself. But Arnie was different. She liked him.
"If you really want to help," Francine
replied, "you can tell me, please, what's going
on with your partner. Hyacinth is keeping some
secret. The situation is shaky, as you saw just now
at the table, and I am sick with worry over it."
Arnie gave a long, whistling sigh. "If I could
tell you, I would. I'm very fond of Hy and don't
like this crazy separation from her children. It's wrong.
Wrong. But I can't get anything out of Gerald, and
frankly, I've stopped trying. It makes for a
delicate situation, you understand."
"I do understand. Partners don't break up because one of
them is having a marital problem."
"Exactly. Gerald's a great doctor, and"-here
Arnie
gave a sheepish grin-"and he has a great social
life, too. Wfio was that guy who had all the
women? Don Juan?"
"So that's what he does with his free time."
"You mustn't think he neglects the kids. Got
to be fair and square. He's crazy about them. They
have a nice nanny, takes good care of them. He
likes to show the kids off. Proud of them."
"Yes, because they happen to be beautiful, both of
them. That's why."
"Gerald would lieake to talk to Hy sometime, but she
hangs up the phone!"
"She can't talk to him, Arnie. It would be
unbearable. He has destroyed her faith and
trust-or almost, because she does trust you."
"I hope so. I would do anything to help her."
"I wish I could, God knows, but until she
tells me, or somebody does, what's at the
bottom of this affair, there's nothing I can do. I
think of her all alone in this house when we leave."
A cry, against Francine's strong will, came out of
her throat, out of her heart and soul. "So tender so
trusting! Filled with goodwill as she has been all
her life! Even as a child, she was kind, not like most
other kids, the selfish little beasts. She was always
so-so decent, do you know?"
Arnie nodded. "Sure I know. Nice guys
finish last. It's always been that way and
always will."
A stand of poplars in the neighbor's yard drew
dark blue shadows in parallel streaks across the
unmarred snow. For a long time Hyacinth, oblivious
to the cold, stood alone at the open door and stared
at the slender tracks
with their shadows all mathematically correct. It would
be an interesting study in watercolors, she
reflected.
They had gone. The house was empty without them; no more
wet towels on the bathroom floor, no toys
to stumble over in the hall, and no board game on the
kitchen table. The house was absolutely still.
They had cried. Even the little boy, so brave in his
maleness and his three years" advantage in age
over his sister, had finally given way. He thought
maybe it was his fault; had she been angry at him
for being so messy? Or had Dad been angry because
he teased Emma? But he hardly ever did that
anymore!
"I will talk to you both on the telephone every day,"
she had promised. Oh, she had promised and
explained, somehow explained, told them all the right
things about how they were loved; she had made foolish
excuses about Granny's illness, had
talked and talked them into comfort, and at last,
into sleep.
So now they were gone. Perhaps I should kidnap them, she
thought. I can sell this house; it's in my name. I can
use the little money that Dad left me, and Francine
will surely help me, too, and my brothers will if
I should need them. Then I'll take my children and
leave the country for the farthest place on the earth:
Australia, Siberia, anywhere to hide and stay.
But this is nonsense. It would be terrifying for them, and
it wouldn't work anyway. Gerald would know how to get
them back, and he would be so furious that he would tell
the whole story.
Arson. A man died.
As suddenly as the mercury had fallen, it rose,
and a January thaw began to soften the hard, pristine
snow. On first impulse, Hyacinth had begun the
snow scene, but when after several tries it had failed
to "come right," she had thrown down the brush. Her
heart was not in it.
Her "heart" was not really in anything. Her heart was
the organ that pumped blood and sometimes fibrillated
hi a state of panic. It was quite clear that she would have
to "do something." This was the first advice that anyone with
half a brain would give her if she were
to ask. Fran- cine, controlling her own
panic-ah, poor Francine, the " trouble I
made for her-insisted that she "do something.""
Moira, in her tiptoe, tentative voice, had
done the same. And even Arnie, over the
telephone, was trying to be tactful when he
inquired, as he always did, what she was "doing."
For the present she was working on the dress that she had
promised to that woman at the R.j. Miller
store. Last week the head of the children's department had
asked her whether she would make half a dozen more for
some special customers, and she had agreed. Why
not? By now the repetition of the pattern was
automatic, a mindless process.
One day Will Miller came. He had cornered her
on the telephone, asking whether he might drop
in. There had been no way she could possibly
refuse him. She had been his guest at dinner, and
having accepted that, did she not owe him something in
return? It was unavoidably a question of good
manners.
In theory, she supposed she ought to welcome
pleasant company, but in practice, in her
circumstances, he
was a complication to be got rid of after this one
time. In an odd way, however, the small
preparations that she made for lunch were energizing. The
table had to be nicely set, and the house put in
perfect order; this was a matter of pride. She
bought daffodils, a salmon steak, and ingredients for
salad. She pressed the linen luncheon mats that
had not been used since the last PTA luncheon.
And she checked the house for any visible object that
Emma and Jerry might have left behind; there was no
reason why this stranger should know anything about her
private life or her private agony.
When he appeared at the door, he did not behave
like a stranger. "Notice anything different about
me?" he demanded.
"The horn-rimmed glasses are gone."
"Right. From now on it's contacts only. I wore
the horn-rims, you see, because everybody advised me
to look older. Now that I'm past thirty, I need
to look younger. Oh, this is a nice house! It
looks like you. I rather imagined it would be like this, with
outdoor colors, soft greens, all these
books-you're making another dress!" .
Next to a chair in the living room where they stood,
she had left an open basket with her sewing. Had
she done so on purpose so that he would see
it? She was not sure; there had been some thread of a
thought when she had put the cover on the basket, and
then removed it.
"I heard from Sally Dodd. She was delighted with
your dress. And now they've asked you to make some more,
I hear."
"Yes, but these are the last. Painting is my work.
I need to get back to it."
"You said you'd let me see it sometime, you
remember?"
"Yes, of course. After lunch. I hope you're
hungry."
"I hope you didn't fuss."
People who lived beyond themselves, who could never seem to do
enough, read enough, hear or learn or see enough,
always had things to talk about. And so once the customary
opening remarks were over, their dialogue sped along.
Hyacinth contributed from what she had stored up in the
attic of her mind; it was old stuff, all of it,
since of late she had not been garnering anything new.
But of course Will did not know that. And from the lively
interest in his eyes, she knew that he was enjoying
himself.
After a while, though, she saw-with that famous sixth
sense-that he was nervous, though perhaps
nervous
wasn't the right word. Tense, then? Ill at ease?
No, certainly not that. He was as fluent as he had
been at their two other meetings, yet not as
casual, more
hurried.
Yes, that was it, more hurried, as if he wanted
to finish the unimportant preliminaries and get
to something else.
Over the homemade apple tart, he paused and
almost apologetically inquired about the divorce. This
might have been the subject he had been wanting
to approach.
"Tell me. Are you getting near the end of your
troubles?"
"The law moves like an iceberg, by inches."
"More painfully, though. Not that I've had any
personal experience. The closest I've come--
since we're going to know each other, I might as
well tell you-is a love
affair I had with a married woman. She was going through
a divorce. It was awful for her, and maybe even more
awful for her children. They were all still in their house, and
fighting the whole time. I must make clear that I was
not the cause of the divorce. The husband
didn't even know about me. I say I was not the
cause; what I meant was, not in any sense known
to the law. But I was afraid that in the moral sense,
the emotional sense, I might be partly to blame.
And so I stepped out. And that, I can tell you, was
painful."
Why was he telling her all this?
"You see, I really knew that they should stay together.
There were things I had been told, things I felt, that
led me to believe they could work things out between them if they
tried. I think people are far too casual about
divorce, especially when there are children." He was
waiting for Hyacinth to make a comment, but she was unable
to make one.
"I'm not trying to present myself as a saint,
Hyacinth. God forbid that I should be such a fool.
I'm not a prig, or a prude, either. But I have
certain feelings, and they led me down the right path that
time because"-Will smiled-"they got together again. They've
even had another child."
Deeply moved, Hyacinth was hoping that her eyes
would not fill as she replied, "I honor you for those
feelings. But they do not apply in this case. We shall
not get together again. Ever."
Why had she spoken so firmly? It would be
better for him to think otherwise, so he would never come
back.
"That makes it easier for you, then, doesn't it?
Especially since you have no children."
Why did she sit there toying with the apple tart, for
she had no appetite, and say nothing? In all
honesty, she ought to speak out. But then he, or
anybody, would naturally ask about them. For is it not
very, very strange when, after two fairly long sessions
of conversation, a woman makes no mention, not the
veriest hint, of the fact that she has children?
It was her turn to say something. It must not be too
obviously a change of subject-rather, an easy
glide away.
"Yes, may it be over soon. But who knows? In the
meantime, I concentrate on painting. I don't
mean to sound important, but it's hard to find the right
words without seeming to puff oneself up. The fact is that
painting is the most important thing in my life.
Does that sound too puffed up?"
"No, not at all. Don't you think that Zuckerman
would say that about his violin? It's great that you're so
enthusiastic. How about showing me something now?"
They started upstairs. Taking an idea from her old
home, Hyacinth had lined the staircase with
photographs, although so far there were only two, those
of Jim and Francine. Will stopped to look at them.
He missed nothing. Like me, he is curious, she
thought.
"You're like your father," he remarked. "He must have
been a quiet man. Was he? Gentle and serious like
you?"
At the top of the stairs, a strong light poured into the
hall, and under it his scrutiny caused her to till a
sudden uncomfortable pause with the first words that entered her
head.
"I can't tell about myself, but yes, he was rather
quiet. My mother is different. She's the family
beauty, as you can see."
"The family beauty, you say? The only one?
No, not at all. If I had to be the judge, I
would choose you. The face in the photo is certainly
beautiful. It has perfect symmetry. But your
face is interesting. Spirit shines through it. One wants
to look again at splendid eyes, perhaps a bit too
large for the face, and a beautiful mouth, a chin perhaps a
bit too strong-but lovely together. Yes, one
wants to look at you again."
Pleased, surprised, and a trifle embarrassed at
the unusual comments, she murmured her
thanks and led him toward the paintings. Personal
compliments might be embarrassing, but compliments to her
work were eagerly and unashamedly awaited. So allowing
art to speak for itself, she stood quietly while Will
walked slowly around the room.
He paused before the portraits: her old
favorites of Jim in a lounge chair and
Francine in a white evening dress. He looked
carefully at her last year's favorite of
Moira's fat little son, in which she had cleverly
arranged shadows so as to make him look thinner. He
moved to the landscapes: a couple in a rowboat on
a dark lake, and snow scenes in blizzard and
sunshine. Slowly and carefully, he lingered before
each, tilting his head or stepping back, the better
to see. Here was no ordinary, polite
acquaintance who, having no interest in art, would say
the right things to the artist. And as the minutes passed
now, a thrill of expectation mounted in Hyacinth's
chest.
Last was one of her best, the still life of carrots and
marigolds tossed in a gardener's basket. The
oranges and yellows, some blending and some clashing,
resembled Matisse's way with colors, she liked
to think. A kind of daring was in it. You thought,
when you put them all together, that it wouldn't work, but it
did.
"At one of the charity art shows in town, a benefit,"
she said, concealing her pride, "somebody wanted
to buy that one, but I wouldn't part with it."
"Have you sold many?"
"Well, maybe a dozen." Mentally she added up
her sales. Arnie had bought two. "Mostly to people
I know. I haven't had any real exposure
yet," she explained and continued, "but I intend
to get some. It's all I want to do with my life."
When he said nothing, she was surprised. He had
turned back to the carrots and marigolds and-how
strange it was!-she thought he looked sad.
After a moment, he asked a question. "Do you go to art
museums very often? I know you mentioned that you used to work
in one."
"Not just at present, but I've surely been in enough
of them, the best of them. It's what I dream about.
Walking into a museum someday in the future and finding
something that I've done hanging on the wall."
"In the Metropolitan or the Louvre?"
Hyacinth stared at him. Was he being serious?
"Well
no, not exactly. How many people ever can
expect that? You have to be a genius."
"Well then, where do you see your work?"
"I hope to see it in a gallery, where people who know
good art go to buy good art. On Madison Avenue
in New York, for instance, or on the Left
Bank in Paris."
"That's a tall order," Will said with a dubious shake
of the head.
"What are you telling me? That you don't think I can
do disx?"
"Well, I only mean that-oh, in any field
it's sometimes comx's not wise to aim too high."
Hesitating, he repeated, "Too high," and he
smiled.
Something was wrong. Suddenly she realized that he had
not shown any admiration, hadn't spoken any
praise, during his slow walk around this room. Such
a thing had never happened to her before.
And she decided to be forthright. "You don't like any
of the pictures. Tell the truth. I won't
mind.*
He looked doubtful for a moment before answering only
that he was hardly an art critic, but merely a
lover of art who had done a good deal of reading-still far
from an expert-
The evasion was both irritating and troubling. She had
sensed enough about him to be sure of his honesty, and now she
demanded it.
"Please Will, the truth, I know you're hiding it from
me."
"All right. I don't think you'll like it, but I'll
say it because I like you very much, Hyacinth. So here it
is:
whether it's money you want, or honors, or both,
this work won't get either one for you."
She was stunned.
"You've wanted this badly, and you've deluded yourself,
or other people have deluded you. Everything you have-here is
imitative."
How dared he! Boldly, he stood there, sure of
his judgment. Cruel and merciless were his words.
"Plenty of accepted art is imitative, that's
true; goodness knows, there must be thousands of brand-new
Impressionists floating around. But even they have the
'something" that's hard to define, but that you recognize
when you see it. It's the difference between someone who
plays a Mozart nocturne recognizably, and the
concert performer who plays it."
She was devastated. If she could conceivably have
ordered him out of the house, she would have done
so.
He continued. "You have everything here from Norman
Rockwell's barefoot farm boys to Turner's
pale sunsets over London. You have great
skill. But that's not enough. You-was And then, as though
he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he
broke off. "Oh, I'm sorry, Hyacinth! I
don't mean to hurt you. Only to help you. In the
short time I've known you, I've seen that your life
is troubled, more troubled than you want to admit. So
I don't want you to waste your hopes and your energy
getting nowhere. I wouldn't speak this way if I
didn't understand how much the work in this room-it must be
several years of effort-means to you. Today is our
third meeting, and on each of them you have talked so
passionately about art, and that's why I'm telling you
this so passionately. I would never, never hurt you,
Hyacinth."
"So what is it all good for?" she demanded. "Shall I
simply stuff it into the trash can, or shall I burn it
up? What are you telling me to do?"
"Keep it for the children and grandchildren you'll have. Keep it as
a hobby. Or you can probably sell this kind of thing
to a department store that has an art section. There are
plenty of people who buy pictures to go with the
furniture."
Bitter, shamed, and furious with Will, even though it was
she who had pressed for an opinion, she could not
help thinking of Arnie and what he had so generously
paid her for some pictures to match his upholstery.
He, at least, had a heart. . . .
Will really needn't have rubbed it in like this, as if he
actually enjoyed being harsh. Yes, she was furious.
When he moved to touch her arm, she drew away. And
then it was he who drew away, walked to the end of the
room and back, threw up his arms, and lamented.
"I should be taken out and shot. Look what I've
done to you! That's what comes of speaking your mind or
spilling everything out without taking thought of results.
When am I ever going to learn? I'll say it again,
I meant well. You know I did, Hyacinth. In
your heart you must know. Why would I want to make you
as miserable as you are now? Why? Listen to me. If
you want a career, and I don't even know whether you
will want to after the divorce, you've got one at your
fingertips, literally at your fingertips. Look how
they've gone crazy over that dress! You need to go-was
"That was a copy, too," she said scornfully.
"With clothing it doesn't matter. They're all
copies. Copies of copies. Saris,
or lace fichus from the eighteenth century," Will
answered with equal scorn. "What you need is
design school. Learn how to cut and fit. The
color sense you've got, that's plain."
"Easylfs that? Maybe I should take up ballet
dancing instead."
Will gave her a rueful smile. "Okay. You're
entitled to some sarcasm. But when you take time to think
it over, I hope you'll forgive my rough tongue."
She said suddenly, "It's all very well to talk about
design school. Even if I wanted to do it, and
I don't, it's too late."
"Of course it isn't. If you were sixty years
old, it wouldn't be too late. Nothing's ever too
late."
"Let's go down," Hyacinth said, moving toward the
stairs.
From behind her came Will's question as he followed: "Who
taught you to sew?"
"My grandmother."
"She taught you well. Sally Dodd says you have
golden hands."
"Funny. My grandmother said that, too."
"Well, they're both right."
In the downstairs hall, Will hesitated as
though he were waiting to be asked into the living room.
People do not usually have lunch at somebody's house and
depart fifteen minutes after they have eaten. Hyacinth
knew very well what he expected. But he was not
going to get it.
"Very nice having you," she said correctly, and
turned toward the front door.
"Hyacinth, I know you're furious. I understand it.
" But listen to me once more. I want to see you
doing something with your life. Learn fashion design.
Do it now."
"No, you listen to me. The dress was a freak
success. It means nothing. It's worthless. I have
no ideas."
"You'll have ideas, just as you did with art. You already know
how to sketch. Put into cloth what you did on
canvas, and I predict you'll make a new
life."
"A new life," she repeated, not caring to hide her
bitterness.
"Yes. You haven't said much about your troubles, but
it's plain that something has hurt you very deeply." Will
looked about. "This house-to be in it alone must be like
inhabiting a tomb. You need to leave it behind and make
a new start."
She was unable to answer him. He had taken her
only support away, had robbed her of purpose
and confidence, of the very little she had left of either.
"Are you so angry with me that you won't shake hands?"
Offering her hand, she said only, "I'm going to forget
everything you said, and I'm going to go right on with my
work."
Apparently Will chose to ignore this little speech, as
he replied, "Thank you for lunch. You make a
wicked apple tart. I'm taking a fairly long
business trip to Europe, but I'll call you when
I get back."
"Have a good trip," she said, and closed the door.
She did not watch him go down the walk as she had
done once before. If he really thought he would see
her again, he was very, very much mistaken. There was a
beating, a pounding in her ears. When that happens, she
had once learned, you are hearing your own heartbeat.
It was no wonder.
She ran upstairs to look again at the work that had
been so thoroughly condemned. All the hours, the
pleasure, the hopes that had gone to make these
lovely things! How could he, a passing stranger in
her life, come in here and wipe away all of that!
Wherever she had comlived, she had been the
"artist," known and respected for her talent. Why,
Gerald-even he-had recognized her for that much at
least: Hyacinth, the artist.
It was too much to bear. It was being hit, hit hard,
when you are already down. And Will Miller had known she
was down. Hadn't he said that it was plain to see?
The beating persisted in her ears. If I should become
ill here alone in this house, if I should die here-and
it's possible, because even healthy young people can drop if
the strain is too great-I shall never see my children.
And from her throat there tore a terrible sound, like the
wail of women outraged by a conquering army. There was
no reason in her and nothing to restrain her as she ran
to the telephone and called Gerald's number.
"You!" she cried when she heard his voice. "You!
What do you think you're doing to me? I've had enough.
I want my children. I'm the one who gave them
birth. They are far more mine than they can ever be yours.
You're evil. You're a monster without heart.
Cold. Cold. Have you any idea how I
despise you? I loathe you. I
would just as soon hold a poisonous snake as put
a finger on.y. How can you see yourself in a mirror
without feeling disgust? What have you got to say about what
you've done?"
"What I have to say is that you're out of control again,
that's all."
Calm, that's what he was. Another subject for a
top- market advertisement. Furnishings, this time?
The desk would be mahogany, a well-waxed
antique, with every article on its surface in
proper order.
She dropped her voice. "I'm not out of control.
I'm only asking you why you are doing this to me. What
have I done to you that you should take my children away from
me?"
"You know quite well that you may see them, Hyacinth.
You will have that in writing before this month is out. All you
have to do is give proper notice to me, and-was
"And you will take them away, trick me as you did
last Thanksgiving."
"Nonsense. That was a misunderstanding."
"A deliberate one."
"If it makes you happy to think so, go ahead." As
clearly as if he had been sitting in front of
her, she saw his casual shrug. "You really have no
complaints, Hyacinth. You must have read about couples
in separate countries who can't even get permission
to have their children visit them at all."
"They're not mine anymore," she said.
"They're yours. You make the decisions as to when I
shall see them, you choose where they'll go to school, what
they'll
eat and wear, you watch them grow from day to day, while
I-. Her voice collapsed into a sob. "I'm
sometimes a visitor and sometimes a hostess who has
gifts for them. I, their mother! Their mother!"
"It's a sad situation," he said quietly.
"It's very sad. But I am not the one who brought it
about. You should look yourself straight in the eye."
"I am looking at myself straight in the eye. And
I know it was an accident, my cigarettes and my
carelessness. But it was nothing more. And you know it was not."
"I don't know anything of the sort. Was it by accident
that you trashed two desks? I'm not the only person
who saw the mess, the computers lying on the floor,
the telephones comno, and I'm not the only one who
knows about Sandy. You tojd me yourself, if you care
to remember all this, Hyacinth, that my so-called
love affair was a lively topic for the local
gossips. Right here in the next town, a man was
picked up when some evidence was found after five or
six years, and he was then identified. Oh, he
got a little time off for good behavior.
And"
comwith this emphasis, Hyacinth could see Gerald's
eyes widen as his brows rose-"and there were no
injuries or deaths in the case, either. So don't
complain. You're well off. And you'd be better off
still if you deposited my checks and went about your
business."
"Don't waste the stamps, Gerald. I shall never
use ten cents" worth of your checks. With so many
good people dying all over this earth, I wonder why you should
still be among the living."
"Thanks. Is that all? Because I'm busy. I
don't know about you, but I have things to do."
When he hung up, Hyacinth remained with the instrument
in her hand.
Things to do.
The words repeated themselves, making an idiotic
refrain in her head. I have nothing. I walk into my
studio, pick up the brush, and wait for an idea,
but none comes. What is to become of me? I shall
become a shell, with nothing inside.
On one of the first fine warm days of early spring,
Granny had a stroke. Without warning and without pain,
she closed her eyes. She would have been the first to say
that her death did not bring with it the intense grief that
Jim's death had brought. And during the
lengthy prayers at the funeral services,
Hyacinth's mind wandered, making loose contact between
Granny's life and her own.
One after the other came before the congregation to say a
few words about Granny. There was a very old man who
had been an usher at her wedding; there were two distant
cousins from Ohio; there was a younger woman who had
been her next-door neighbor. Each of them
spoke well. They were sincerely moved, and as she
heard them, Hyacinth felt an overwhelming return
of memory, the sights and sounds and fragrances of
Granny and her house: the knitting needles in the
basket, apples baking on the stove, Granny's
Hly-of-the-valley perfume, and Granny complaining
to the humane society about a dog left outdoors
in the cold.
The old, old man remembered things that Hyacinth
had never known.
"She took in boarders during the Depression. She
made their meals, washed their clothes, and scrubbed
their floors; she had never done such things or needed
to do them, but she taught herself and did them.
"When the war came and the Depression ended, she
helped her husband rebuild his business. When he
died of cancer, she took over the business
and saved a nest egg for old age. She lost two
sons, one in war, another war, and one not long ago,
your father, Hyacinth, your husband, Francine. And
through it all, she held up her head. She never
forgot how to laugh. She kept her zest for life.
She lived it bravely."
When
the
service was over, Hyacinth did not linger to exchange
sympathy and reminiscences with the large crowd that had
gathered. Heavy with her thoughts, she went straight
home instead and lay awake half the night with those
thoughts.
A few days later, she left a message on
Francine's answering machine. "Gone to New
York on business. I need time to think. Don't
worry. I'm fine. I'll be back soon."
Then she closed the front door and departed for the
train.
In her room at the hotel in New York, she
made a list of art galleries, twenty in all,
where she would study every picture, no matter how long
it might take. It would be a dizzying journey from the
Italian Renaissance to the nineteenth-century
landscape painters, to the first
Impressionists, the Fauves, the Expressionists,
the Moderns, the post-Moderns, and all the rest.
But at the end, along with the dazzle in her head, some
truth would
speak to her and answer her question: Do I have Art within
me, or do I not?
The journey lasted five days. Afterward she was
to remember a few especially poignant moments,
which in retrospect must have moved her toward her
decision. One was the startling recognition of a face
in a contemporary portrait of a young child lying on her
mother's lap. Emma, she thought, on the day I gave
her the rose dress. There was such an absolute
delight in that little face, and the artist had gotten it
all, the very breath of life that, while it is a joy
to behold, is touched too with the moving sadness of
innocence.
How could I have failed to see myself as I really am?
she asked herself. Will Miller was right. My work has
never moved anyone either to tears or joy. Skill
I have, but never the indefinable.
And then there was the conversation at the Museum of
Modern Art. Standing in front of Monet's
Water Lilies,
a young woman said to her, "It does something
to you, doesn't it? If I ever have time after work, I
go to look at pictures. Especially if you have
things on your mind, they make you feel better, these
artists."
"Yes, they do."
"You wonder what it is. What is it about these
flowers? Everybody paints flowers. They paint them
on greeting cards, so what's the difference?"
In Giverny, at the home of the water lilies, it
had been such a glorious afternoon, and she had been so
happy! But Gerald had been in a cranky rush
to get it over with.
And she stood there long after the crowd had thinned,
reliving that day and thinking of many things, of how those who
loved her had in their loving pride deluded her, and of
how she had deluded herself into thinking that her work was
better than it truly was.
Will Miller would be surprised if he could know, although
he never would know, that she was just probably going
to take his advice. They had paid so surprisingly
much for those dresses! Sewing was certainly not what
she had hoped to do with her life, but how many people get
to do what they hope they can do? And this was not a pipe
dream. It was realistic.
On the sixth day, she was ready for her
final decision. Having fortified herself with
catalogs, she made her choice, got into a
taxi, and before she could change her mind, enrolled at
a first-rate school for fashion design.
"You're making me feel like a wayward, runaway
child," she remonstrated when she got home.
Francine scolded, "Age has nothing to do with it.
You can't blame me. Going off like that with a message
about "needing time to think"! I had terrible thoughts that
maybe you-was
"Committed suicide? No, not at all. You should be
pleased. You've told me over and over that I must do
something with my time, and you were right. So now I'm doing
it.
w
Francine was not that easily appeased. "You've even
upset your friend here. Arnie phoned me after calling
you for three days straight and getting no answer. You
need to thank him."
Arnie, enthroned in the leather wing chair that had
been Gerald's, waved thanks away. "Your mother and
I had the same fear. You might as well know the
truth. I was afraid because of the kids. I thought-if
you've done something to yourself-that's why I flew up here.
I didn't tell anybody except
to say I had business in New York."
"I'm sorry that I've upset you all, but there's
no need to fear. I would never do it. I wouldn't
hurt my children like that. I suppose they're all right,
or you would be telling me, Arnie?"
"Oh, they're fine. I see them two or three
times a week. We belong to the same swim club.
They've been having lessons there. You should see
Emma-was Embarrassed, he stopped.
"Indeed, she should see her," Francine said.
A solemn silence followed. Both Francine and
Arnie were staring at Hyacinth, who was staring at the
floor. Without raising her head, she felt their
stare, as though they were touching her with hot hands.
Francine, breaking the silence, spoke sternly.
"This whole thing seems eccentric to me. Why don't
you go back to art restoration? You loved it."
"Because I'm barely a beginner. It takes years
to become expert, and I need money."
"Stop the nonsense, Hyacinth. You saw the house
Gerald lives in. I'm sorry, Arnie.
He's your partner, but he's my enemy, and
frankly, I'm surprised-don't misunderstand,
I'm grateful for your kindness, but still I-was
Arnie said firmly, "I don't take
sides. Gerald knows that. I'm neutral. If
I could patch things up, I would feel I had done
a great thing. But so far I haven't seen any
signs on either side. It's all a goddamn
mystery."
Hyacinth looked at Arnie and at Francine. I
am separated from them both, she thought. There is a
wall around me. They want me to take it down so
they can get through, and I can't do it. Their words strike
the wall ana bounce back to them.
Arnie asked, "What about selling your pictures?
I've been meaning to ask for a couple to put in my
new place. I've got a living room a mile
long. I could use maybe seven or eight,
depending on the size. I don't know what they're
worth, but I'm no cheapskate, so you just name your
price."
dis8ally just go upstairs and take what you want,"
Hyacinth said gently. "They're not worth much, if
anything. They'll be my small way of saying
thanks."
Francine, tapping her foot, gave notice that
she was more than ordinarily agitated. "Your
pictures aren't worth much, you say? But your sewing
will be?"
"I think so. I hope so."
"And on those thoughts and hopes you propose to give
up your home, leave me and all your friends here,
pull up stakes, and start off into the unknown."
"You forget I've done it before."
"There's no comparison. You had a-was
"A husband. I know. Well, I'm learning to do
without one."
"Not for long," Arnie said. "Not you, Hyacinth."
Words like balls or stones kept bouncing against the
wall. Francine's were well aimed.
"If you sell this house, how are the children going
to visit?"
"I'll find a place in the city."
"To give up a house like this! I'm not giving up
mine. Your father always wanted it kept as a homing
place. George is coming for a week in the summer with
all his crew, and Tom expects to be coming east
two or three times a year on business. Besides,
I have friends all over, even in England, and they like
to use it as a hotel. You are making a big
mistake to sell this house."
"I told you, I need the money to live on in
New York."
"Permit me to disagree," Arnie said.
"Hyacinth would be smart to sell it now. This
neighborhood is going downhill. They're widening
the avenue, the business section is moving in this
direction, and in two or three years, this house will
be worth a lot less than it is now,"
"Well, you're a clever businessman, and I'm
not," Francine admitted somewhat dubiously. "So
we might as well drop the subject. My
daughter has always been stubborn, and she appears
to have made up her mind."
The hall clock struck once. It was Granny's
tall clock. And Hyacinth thought instantly: That
comes with me. Whatever else I leave behind, that comes;
it's my lucky charm.
When it struck three more times, Arnie stood up.
"Now that I know you're all right, Hy, I'm going
to leave you. But I'll be looking in on you in New
York. I always have business to tend to there, so I
fly up now and then."
They shook hands, she thanked him, received a peck
on the cheek, and saw him to the door.
"Yes, I tell you again, the man's a little bit
crazy about you," Francine observed.
"I don't see it at all."
"You may not see it, but I do. I like him,
Hyacinth. He's a man, straightforward and able
to look you in the eye. Not that you're in a position to do
anything now, but the time will come."
"I'm not interested in him or any man."
"You will be. You heard what Arnie said."
"I have very little in common with Arnie,"
"I only meant that he can be of help to you. And
he's so nice to Jerry and Emma while they're in
Florida."
"Yes, he's very kind, and I appreciate it."
"He's a very clever man. You'd do well to take his
advice on business."
"I don't need his advice. I am learning not
to depend on anybody."
"Well," Francine said. And then, "You look
tired."
"I am a little."
"Go out to the porch. I'll bring some tea."
Understanding her, Hyacinth obeyed. Being a mother had
nothing to do with age. Granny at eighty had mothered
her fifty-five-year-old son.
"I was thinking," Francine said, stirring the tea.
"Since you've made up your mind about what you want
to do, you should at least keep all your beautiful
furniture. Take what you need for your
apartment, and put the rest into storage. You'll need it
someday," she finished positively.
No, never will I need it. How shall I ever have a
house like this one?
"You don't agree?" For Hyacinth had not
replied.
"But then you never did listen to my advice, so I
should be used to it by now." And Francine sighed.
She looked haggard. Her vertical forehead lines
were so deeply carved that you could only hope they were not
going to become a permanent flawddon that exquisite
face. It has been a terrible year for her, and I
am part of it, Hyacinth thought. With a sudden rush of
sadness and regret, she reached across the little table and
laid a hand over Francine's.
"Forgive me," she whispered. "We don't always
agree. But then, so many people who love each other
don't agree. Isn't that so? But I will take your
advice about the furniture."
Furniture.
How unimportant in the scheme of life! She could
have thrown it all away without missing it, especially
this furniture, with all its past. Yet apparently
it had significance for Francine, who in her love
saw it only as a guarantee that
"normalcy" for her daughter would someday, somehow
resume.
The climbing rose was gradually coming into leaf on the
arbor. Faithful creature! When first snow was
stirring in the gray air, it still carried gravely a
last small, shriveled bud. I shall miss it,
Hyacinth thought. I was so serene on the day I
planted it! And we were so satisfied in this new
house! No. It was I alone who was satisfied. .
. . And she sat there holding the teacup, while the
season's first bee went darting and buzzing through the
sunshine.
Hyacinth, as she moved through the Institute's
classrooms and corridors, was reminded of those
newspaper accounts in which people of seventy or eighty
at last obtain a college degree. She was
hardly that age, and yet there was an extraordinary
difference between the rest of the students and herself. They were so
light and unfettered! They were too cheerful, too
earnest, too ignorant of evil, too lovely in
their youth-- too everything. Among them, she thought, I
might be from Mars.
It was almost midsemester before she became aware that the
instructors, unlike the students, were taking
notice of her. Having been so unsure of
herself at the start, she was totally surprised when one
of her sketches was displayed before an advanced class
on drawing techniques. Afterward the instructor told
her that she really did not need to be taking that class
at all.
This bit of encouragement, she sometimes reflected, was
probably what kept the various parts of her psyche
from coming unglued. She had, of course, a comfortable
familiarity with color and form, so that although she had
never been intensely concerned about clothes, other than
to have a natural desire to look "nice," the
preparation of a design portfolio seemed no
harder than it had once been to stand at the easel in
the studio at home. Very often she brought work to the
apartment, where on a card table she laid out patterns
and practiced drawing in pen and ink.
Almost always, on Saturdays and Sundays, she went
to special classes. And so by filling every moment of the
week, she fortified herself against a loneliness that
sometimes threatened like a tidal wave to wash her
away.
Lonely in the midst of crowds
is by now a cliche. Hyacinth had never lived in a
place where the postman did not pause to chat for a
moment at the front door, or where the
checker at the supermarket was too rushed to pass the
time of day. In one sense this anonymity was a
relief, while in another it gave her some rather
terrifying moments. The diversity of people in the city, and
especially in her neighborhood here on the border
of Chelsea, should in theory have given her many
choices, but actually there was such a medley of types
in her building alone that the result was no cohesion
and no real contacts other than a few friendly nods.
She had nothing except humanity in common with the
nineteen- year-old aspiring actress who lived
across the hall with her boyfriend; nor did she have any
contact with the
garment workers who spoke no English. The tottering
couple who had lived in the building for the last
sixty- five years were in still another world.
Below her window, the street itself was in a state of
change. The past remained, in the form of five-story
walk-ups at whose windows bedding was hung out to air
and on whose stoops sat clusters of women gossiping
and watching troops of children. The present and the future
showed all the signs of gentrification; the brownstone
fronts had been cleaned and lightened enough to show a touch
of faintest pink; shops had polished brass
fittings on their polished doors, and
quaintly lettered signs announcing that Victorian
antiques, Thai food, or secondhand books were
on sale within. Over all was a bustle and haste such
as Hyacinth had never seen before.
After her long days, she climbed four flights of
stairs and closed her door with feelings that varied.
At times the two small rooms were a shelter,
while at other times they were a prison. It was not
always hard to know what caused these wild swings of the
pendulum. The sight of a mother walking with young children
might send her running to shelter, where she need not be
reminded of other people's normal lives, whereas the
pleasure that came from a stimulating workshop or some
words of praise so filled her with the need to be
successful, to triumph over her circumstances, that
she hated her prison.
Ignoring Arnie's offers of assistance, she had
found the place herself. Ignoring Francine's
advice, she had made no effort to adorn the two
small rooms. There was a bed, there were two chairs,
one in each room, and there was a card table for her work.
There was a kitchen,
closet-sized; but she cooked very little, ate very little,
and grew even thinner. It did not matter. All she
wanted was to get through the course of study and
find a job that would pay enough to provide a place where
her children could stay
t
Repeatedly, she told herself that the important thing,
the elementary thing, was to look forward. Backward
looks are not only futile, Granny always had
said; they were confusing. So on the day when the final
divorce papers were signed and she was legally freed
from Gerald, she had a blinding flash of remembrance
much like what is said about a drowning man's instant
recall of his entire life. She saw the motel
where they had had their secret afternoons under her satin
quilt; she saw the wedding, their dance, the passion of
her first night lying with him the whole night through with his
ring on her finger.. .. How could all of that have
disappeared? Vanished! Turned into disillusion, as
though it had never been.
Yes, the only thing left was to look
forward.
Yet too often when sleep failed, while voices
shrilled and trucks rumbled on the street outside,
her mind took a short journey back to the house
she had left and her wrenching last hour there.
Only a few people had been told that she was going
away. These were sensitive people, friends who
asked no questions and had come only to wish her well.
Moira was there, of course, along with two teachers
who, assuming that she was on her way to Florida,
brought little gifts for Jerry and Emma. The house
painter came; when his wife had been dreadfully
ill last winter,
Hyacinth had cooked and frozen meals for the family,
and he would never forget her.
Francine was baffled and crushed and very, very angry at
her daughter, but being Francine, she was gallantly
trying not to let it show. When she gave her a final
hug and kiss, her eyes were glistening with tears, but
she had nothing to say. Had not everything been said?
Sometimes as Hyacinth lay awake hearing the bedside
alarm clock tick past midnight, she also thought
about Will Miller. No doubt he would have been
surprised to hear that a total, or almost total,
stranger had taken his advice. If it were possible,
she would have liked to tell him about it. But it was not
possible. In departing she had left a false
trail, and anyway, he might not even want to see
her again. In any case, he would lose interest in
her when, as ultimately he would have to do, he learned
what an oddity she was: a woman who had given
up her little children. And in the second case,
she really wasn't much interested in him, either, or in
any man, attractive or not.
One morning after one such restless night, she awoke
to find a drift of snowflakes in the air. It was still
early in November, and these premature flakes were
already melting into gray mush on the sidewalk. They
did, however, serve to remind her of the nearness of
Thanksgiving. Last year's had been a horror
best forgotten. This year's was going to be empty, with
no place to go. Fran- cine was flying out west to be
with the grandchildren, whose number seemed to be continually
increasing. Surely Hyacinth could have no desire
to go there. Nor would she risk another fiasco like
last year's in Florida.
Two weeks either before or after the holiday, which
Gerald would be celebrating in his customary sociable
style, would make more practical sense for her. An
insistent need, over and above her constant yearning,
suddenly seized her as she watched the snow. Already the
year was coming toward its end. Months went by as fast as
hours do. By the end of the next semester, Emma would
be in first grade. Jerry would be in fourth. Before she
knew it, their childhood would be gone.
It occurred to her that she should ask Arnie to arrange
a visit for her. It occurred to her also that
this dependency upon Arnie was most unusual. Yet
at the same time, it also seemed quite natural.
Flying southward, Hyacinth was continuously aware of
her own mood. Almost every adjective began with an
e: euphoric, elated,
and
excited
comb tremulous too, on the verge of tears.
Determined not to allow even one tear to fall, she
recited her mantra-
Head over heart
comand returned to her book. She was reading the life of
Coco Chanel, a girl who had learned to sew in
an alteration shop and had become an international name.
The tale held her interest, so much so that later in the
hotel-where, since Emma and Jerry were not to arrive
until next morning, she had dinner alone-she
surprised herself by passing judgment on all the other
women's clothes. Never before had she paid that much
attention to what people were wearing.
Now there's a very fine suit, she noticed, but it
doesn't fit the woman. There's a lovely
dress, but the color is too drab for her.
Francine would liven it with a scarf; scarlet
or emerald would do the trick. Now there's
a dress! Hand-woven silk. You can't mistake
it. A few months ago, I didn't know anything
about hand-woven silk.
With fabric like that, she thought, with a cut that simple
and a few yards of contrasting color, you could work out
half a dozen fabulous designs if you wanted
to: a Japanese effect with an obi in the right
print, in white or black maybe; you could have a
sash tied and lapped over into a tiny bustle, or a
pleated flounce at the hem.
Upstairs in her room after dinner and impatient for
morning, she whiled away the evening by drawing
sketches on the hotel's stationery. She drew the
obi and the flounce. She drew a woman in daytime
dress with a large summer hat, and then the same
dress worn with a small round hat. She thought of people
she knew-of Moira, for instance-and how best
to disguise those extra twenty pounds.
She was embarrassing herself. Who do you think you are,
Madame Chanel? Well, she started with a little hat
shop, decorating plain straw hats so that they
looked like a million dollars, or francs. Of
course, she had a rich lovec, and that must have helped
a little.
It was all amusing.
The next morning they arrived in splendor, stepping
out of the newest, most lavish sports utility van,
with their nanny at the wheel. For an instant,
Hyacinth had to blink before she was sure of them. In the
second instant, she saw that Jerry had grown at
least two inches; there could be no doubt now, if ever
there had been, that he was Gerald in miniature.
Emma's pigtails were gone. Her hair hung
loose and wavy like Francine's, so that in
a subtle way she had left babyhood behind. They
were both new to their mother. And having vowed to shed no
tears, not even a tear of joy, Hyacinth shed none
now, even as she pulled them both together into her arms.
In the background stood an elderly-seeming woman
wearing a white uniform and a cheerful smile.
"You're Mrs. O'Malley," said Hyacinth.
"Oh yes, and haven't I had a time with them this
morning! They would have started at six o'clock if I'd
let them. They were in such a hurry to see Mommy."
"We brought our swimsuits!" Emma cried.
"Daddy says this hotel has a pool, and you would
let us go in."
Could she ever have thought that the word
Daddy
would be abrasive?
She answered brightly, "Of course. I'm sorry
I never thought to bring my suit, but Mrs.
O'Malley and I will sit and watch you. Then
we'll have lunch outside by the pool. It'll be
fun."
"Her name is Nanny," Emma said.
"Nanny and I will watch you. You can change in there.
Which beach bag is yours, Emma? I'll go in
to help you."
"No, Nanny will," Emma said. "She always
does."
"Fine. Then I'll go find some chairs in the
shade."
Nanny always does.
It was such a small thing, yet it made her feel
extraneous, as if she were not needed.
Having arranged the chairs, she sat and waited. The
kiddie pool was uncrowded. A few young children were
splashing, and a few more were running while mothers warned
against the slippery tiling; you could tell they were mothers not
only by their appearance but by the
way they spoke. There was always something recognizable
about a mother's voice.
I am looking for trouble, she thought then, reprimanding
herself. I am simply waiting and expecting
to be hurt. Can't you look for the positive,
Hyacinth? Here they come. Here in the red trunks and the
pink bikini, the little bodies, my flesh and my
heart.
"Oh, no!" she cried as Jerry dove into the
adult pool.
Nanny assured her that he was allowed to, "as long
as there's a lifeguard and he stays in the shallow
end. Jerry's a fine swimmer already. You don't have
to worry."
"I didn't know he was that good."
"Yes, he's a real athlete, Jerry is. He
started tennis lessons last month, and the coach
says he's way ahead of any other kids his
age."
"He didn't tell me, and I speak to both of them
almost every day."
That had been a stupid thing to say. It sounded
positively apologetic, as if she wanted
to explain herself, or show that she was, in spite of
all, an attentive, caring mother.
"Oh, I know. I'm always there to remind them of the
time. You must be waiting for their ring."
They were acting, playing a role, the mother and the woman
who must be-in a perfectly decent,
understandable way-fascinated by this odd situation. And the
mother is sitting here, imperturbable, well groomed
and calm, in the groomed setting of marble, sky, and
pool, pretending that there is really nothing odd about the
situation. Surely there must be plenty of speculation
between this nanny and the other woman in the house, the
unfriendly servant on that awful day. Nanny was even
now stealing a curious look at Hyacinth, but
catching her glance, she pretended to be watching
Emma, who was talking to another girl in the pool.
"Emma's the sociable one. A real chatterbox.
Makes friends everywhere she goes. And people take to her,
even people you wouldn't expect. Why, the other day a
real grumpy-looking old man in the drugstore
got talking to her, and-was
The woman was speaking as if these children were strangers who
needed to Be introduced to Hyacinth and described for
her.
"comand so, when I told her daddy, he laughed, got
a big kick out of it. He always-was She stopped.
Fight anger and pain, Hyacinth. Keep your
dignity.
"It's quite all right to mention their father, Nanny," she
said.
Nanny flushed. "I only meant she's
a personality, that one."
Yes, that's another resemblance to Francine, and it
was a good thing, too. It would make life easier.
Jerry, who had also found friends, came bringing one with
him. "This is Doug. He wants to have lunch with us.
His parents won't be back till after lunch. Can
he have lunch with us?"
It was not clear whether the question was being addressed
to Nanny or to Hyacinth. She answered quickly, Just
as Nanny did the same.
"Yes, he's welcome."
He was not really welcome. This innocent little boy
was, on this one day of days, an interloper, as was
Nanny or anybody who took her precious
minutes away from Hyacinth. She was a prisoner
here, without transportation to take the children anywhere
else. She could not very well ask Nanny to go eat
by herself. And then the thought came that, quite possibly, or
more likely probably, Gerald had instructed the
woman not to leave the children alone with their mother.
"You are out of control, Hyacinth. You've got a
problem."
Children's chatter filled the lunch hour. This was not at
all what she had planned and longed for. And she thought
of the two rooms in which she now lived. Perhaps
after all she had made a mistake in selling their
house. So her mind spun, round and round.
Emma said suddenly, "I want to go riding. I'm
tired of this pool." There was something new in her
voice, a petulant wail. "I'm tired of it.
The club has an ice cream bar, and this place
doesn't."
"Oh, shut up," Jerry said. "Shut your big
yap."
"I don't like that talk," Hyacinth told him.
"Everybody talks like that, Mom."
"Maybe they do, but I still don't like it."
What was she saying? Picking on him for using a word
like
yapl
Picking on him
today)
But mothers are supposed to correct, if they do it
kindly. Yes, mothers are. She was forgetting: This
nanny is his mother now.
Emma repeated, "I want to go riding."
"I didn't bring anything for you to wear," Nanny
said. "I didn't know you wanted to."
Jerry protested, "I can ride the way I am."
"You know you can't. You need long pants so
your skin won't rub sore, you need boots and a
helmet with a chin strap. You know your daddy would have a
fit if you rode without one. It's the same as on
your bike. And that's that," Nanny concluded with the
voice of authority.
"Can't we just drive out there to show Mom?" Jerry
pleaded. "Just to look? You would like that, wouldn't you,
Mom?"
"I'd love to. I'd love to do anything you'd
like."
"It's a good long drive, but nice," Nanny
said. "We should start now before traffic gets
heavier."
Jerry sat in front talking and fiddling with the radio
dials in turn. Emma, in the middle row of
seats, fell asleep. When her head fell to rest
on her mother's shoul
dety
Hyacinth did not move; even though her body needed
to change position, no such comfort would be worth the
loss of that warm head so close, with the feel and
fragrance of soft hair brushing her cheek.
"We're almost there," Jerry cried. "I know the
way. Two more lights." He held up two
fingers. "Then we turn left-no, right-and the
first thing I'm going to do is, I'm going to show you
Uncle Arnie's horse."
In his excitement, he was bouncing on the seat. He
had always bounced, even when he sat in his high
chair.
And Hyacinth asked tenderly, "Not your horse
first?"
"Oh, both. But his first because his is bigger. It's
enormous. I told you! It's a Tennessee
Walker."
In almost every one of their telephone conversations, Jerry
remembered to give that piece of information.
"I know. And Emma's pony?"
"It's not really hers. She's too young. She gets
rides. They have to walk it around and hold her on it.
She only thinks it's all her pony. But we never
tell her that," Jerry warned. "We don't want
to hurt her feelings."
There's the goodness in him. That's really sweet, and so
funny when you think of how tough he sometimes tries
to be.
"What did you say about me?" asked Emma,
sitting up.
"Only that you had a nice nap, and we're almost
there."
Emma smiled. Her teeth would not need to be
straightened. She had not kept Gerald's dimple,
as Jerry had. Someone-who?-had given her a little
gold heart on a chain. She had had a scratch
or bite on the inside of her arm; there was a
Band-Aid on it. Her mother's eyes missed nothing.
On the other hand, the mother's eyes saw nothing. It was
all a blur, the passing impression of a shady
lane, of some low shingled buildings, and of fields,
flat green spaces with white board fences. They
brought out a pony, a little creature not much larger
than a Great Dane, and for Hyacinth's benefit,
they set Emma on it for a minute or two.
Nanny clapped, so Hyacinth clapped. They
brought out another pony, much larger; Jerry began a
demonstration, and still there was that blur before her eyes and
in her head: What am I doing here? It is all
false.
Nanny touched her arm. "Are you feeling all right?"
She came to. "Yes, yes, I'm fine."
"I ask because you didn't answer Jerry. He's
showing you how he mounts."
"I'm sorry! I don't know why I didn't
hear him. Go on, Jerry, show me."
"You hold the reins between your thumb and this
finger. See? Like this, not in your fist. And you have to sit
up straight with your knees down. See? Can I
walk around a little? Just a little? I know I'm not
dressed and I'm not supposed to, but can I,
Tom?"
The young groom who held the pony was patient. He
winked at Jerry. Apparently he liked him.
Most people did. "Okay, I'll walk with you once
around the paddock. Then you have to get off, and we
won't say anything."
"They're very nice to the children here," Nanny said. "I
guess that's because their Uncle Arnie keeps his
horse here and conies almost every day. When Jerry's
in school, he usually can't come every day, so they
exercise the pony for him."
Jerry was proud as he dismounted and handed the reins
to Tom. He's having a good life, Hyacinth
thought. At least I have to be grateful for that, and I
am.
"I didn't tell you his name, did I, Morn?"
He had told her, many times, but obviously he
enjoyed repeating the name, so she told him he had not.
"King Charles is his name. Do you know why?"
"No. Why?"
"Because Charlie is a King Charles
spaniel."
"Oh. Well, that's a very good reason."
"I thought so, too. He's a Shetland pinto."
She had heard that many times also, but she remarked
merely, "I like his white stockings."
"They're socks, Mom. Stockings are when they come
up to the knees."
"You know so much, Jerry."
"I do. I do." He nodded seriously. "Did you
know I ride on an English saddle? Cowboys
use Western saddles, but I don't."
"Well, you're not a cowboy, are you? You're an
easterner."
Nanny consulted her watch. "If we're to beat the
traffic going back, we'd better start. It's good
we don't need to be on time for dinner. But Daddy
has office hours one night a week, you know, and
tonight's the night."
Hyacinth had quite naturally not known, but the routine and the
punctilious dinner hour-barring emergency comwere
most surely familiar. A picture loomed,
flashed, and immediately dissolved: strong, lean hands,
impeccable and somehow stern, if hands ever could be stern,
laying a knife and a fork in parallel order on a
plate. Whether it was this image, with all
its corollaries, or whether it was the awareness that the
day was coming to an end, she did not know; she only
knew that her supply of emotional energy was running
low. What was the purpose of this day? It had only
reopened her wounds. And she had no way of knowing
anything about her children's wounds, if any. Perhaps by now
theirs had healed over. She could only pray that they
had.
"I want ice cream," Emma announced, "the
kind with chocolate sprinkles."
"Don't you remember the magic word, Emma?"
"I want ice cream,
please."
"Great. We'll have it back at the hotel."
"Do they have sprinkles?"
"I'm sure they have."
Nanny was dubious. "It's getting near
suppertime, you know. Don't spoil your
appetites."
"It's midafternoon," Hyacinth said firmly, "and it
won't hurt them if they don't finish their supper
for once."
In a polite, respectful way, Nanny was
overstepping her
role.
She wouldn't be doing it to any other mother or any other
employer. She was doing it because she saw very clearly
that she was dealing with a mother who for some mysterious reason
had been defeated and cast out.
On a terrace under a breeze that rattled the palm
branches above their heads, they sat in a man-made
jungle surrounded fay flowers. And Hyacinth,
observing the children, saw that they were pleased but not
unusually so. Already they were accustomed to places like this
one, this oasis of luxury.
Jerry announced that Dad was taking him to the tennis
matches. He had a new racquet. Emma
wasn't old enough for tennis yet; she was having
ballet lessons. And Dad had started to play
chess with Jerry. Really there was no harm in any of
this. Anyone who could afford to gave his children all these
extra chances to learn and do. But if you had been
reduced to a meager shelter, you could not afford to give
them these things. As so many times before, Hyacinth
remembered the woman at that group meeting who had
lost her son to their father's lavish house on a
lake. And she remembered-when was there a day when she
forgot?-the faces of the widow and the little boy. ...
A startling question roused her. Jerry was asking whether
Dad and she were divorced yet.
"Oh, yes," she replied quite casually.
"The papers are finished and signed, I mean?"
She was astonished.
Papers.
This generation's children knew too much, too soon.
Yet how could they help but know?
Again she said simply, "Yes."
"Why don't you ever come to our house?" asked
Emma.
Jerry rebuked her, although not unkindly. "You
don't know anything. But it's not your fault. You're
only five."
"I'm five and a half. Why don't you,
Mommy?"
I'm tired, thought Hyacinth. I'm tired, and I
don't know what to say.
They were waiting. And again the woman, the nanny, the
stranger, gave her that curious glance.
Then Jerry answered. "It's because Mom's sick.
Tessie said so."
"Tessie? Who is she?"
"You know. She cooks the food and cleans the
house."
Sick, thought Hyacinth. Yes, I must have looked
it that day.
"Oh. Well, she's wrong, Jerry. I'm
perfectly well. I had to take care of Granny
for a long time, you see, and then-was
"Tessie said there's something the matter with you. I
heard her. She told you, too, Nanny, don't
you remember? I heard you both in the kitchen.
Tessie said she thought you were queer because you didn't
talk at all
that day when you came and we weren't home. She said you
were a bad woman, and that's why Daddy went away from
you. But I know that's not true. You're not bad, and
Tessie is dumb. I hate her. I told
Daddy."
For an instant, Hyacinth closed her eyes. Then
she heard her own voice coming as if from a hollow
place far off. It seemed to echo in her ears.
"And what did Daddy say?"
"He said of course you weren't bad."
Nanny, whose flush made two red wounds on her
cheeks, interrupted him. "You need to be careful of
what you say, Jerry. I don't remember that
Tessie ever used the word
bad,
only
sick.
Be accurate. That means not making mistakes."
"I am accurate. I am accurate, Mom. I
always remember things, don't I, Mom?"
"Yes, you have a wonderful memory."
"Oh, he does. I know that," Nanny said. And
turning to Hyacinth, she exed, "This is all a
mistake. Nobody meant any harm. Tessie
made a mistake about your being sick, too.
Maybe you were that day. I don't know, I wasn't
here, but you do seem very well today. Their Uncle
Arnie talks about you to the children, and he's never said a
word to them about your being sick, or anything. And he would
have told them. He talks about you a lot."
This woman was not fooling Hyacinth. Under the veneer of
sympathy and the curiosity now verging on the
prurient, there was perhaps a touch of malice, an
inference that something was "going on" and that Uncle Arnie
was perhaps more to her than a mere uncle.
This kind of thing was horrible for the children. They
needed to get off the subject immediately. Yet she could
not help one more question.
"What else did Daddy tell you, Jerry?"
"He said Tessie should not talk like that. He said he
was going to speak to her about it."
Emma persisted. "You won't tell me
when you're coming again, Mommy."
"I'll tell you over the telephone, darling. I
can't tell you right now."
"Then can we go to your house?"
How could she say that she had no house anymore?
"I'll tell you that over the telephone, too."
"Why do you have to go away again today, Mommy?"
The nanny's interest was palpable. It was legible in
her very expression, which said silently:
Now how are you going to answer that one?
Well, maybe you couldn't blame her. The situation
really was out of the ordinary, a good topic for
speculation and conversation.
"I'm going to school again, Emma, and I mustn't be
late."
"School? But you're grown up. Grown-ups
don't go to school."
"Sometimes they do," Jerry said wisely. "Dad
told me."
That settled the question. If Dad told him, then it
must be so.
"We really should start now," said Nanny. "It's
time."
Promptly, they all stood and went through the lobby
toward the exit and the car. Emma and Jerry
went running ahead.
"Beautiful children," said Nanny.
She might have been awkwardly trying to make
amends. Or else to "rub it in," either one.
How to know the devious path of her thoughts, or
anybody's thoughts? In any case, it did not
matter because they would change nothing.
A few hours later, as the plane rose into the
evening sky, Hyacinth tried to recall those final
minutes, but her mind seemed to have gone empty. She
did recall that last night, while she had sat
making foolish fashion sketches, she had been
full of anticipation. Yet today it had gone all
wrong. It was not that Jerry and Emma were unhappy,
for the nanny was good to them and it was that they liked her.
Gerald, of course, adored them, so it was none of
those things. It was only the cruel, undeniable truth
that was slowly filling the empty space in her mind:
Her children, her flesh as she always thought of them, the
flesh of her heart-were slipping away. She was
losing them.
Late one afternoon Hyacinth answered a knock on the
door and found Arnie.
"I got no answer when I called today, so since
I was coming up from Wall Street anyway
and had to pass nearby, I thought I'd take a chance
on finding you home."
"I was at class till just now. I haven't had
time to straighten up all this mess. You wouldn't think
a little place like this would get so messy. But come in
anyway."
She was prattling as people can do when they are taken
unawares and are already too unnerved to be
taken unawares. Standing in the doorway, Arnie was
within reaching distance of the card table on which her work was
spread, and she was so close to his face that she was
able to catch its flicker of astonishment before he wiped
the flicker away with a greeting.
"Well, stranger, long time no see."
"But you hear me often enough on the telephone," she
said, and smiled at him, not because she felt like smiling,
but because being the kindly person he was, he deserved
a smile.
"Not the same. You want to go out to dinner?"
His eye had caught the still-unwrapped delicatessen
sandwich next to the bottle of Evian water, as
well as the shabby bed in the room beyond. He had seen
everything. I swear he can read my mind, thought
Hyacinth.
"Thanks, but no," she replied.
"Another time. This stuff that I'm doing here is due
tomorrow at my second class in the morning. I'm
really working hard," she said brightly.
"Good, good. I won't get in your way. I'll
stay a few minutes to rest my feet, that's all."
Taking his seat across from her in the only other chair,
he regarded her. And she, not even raising her eyes
from the pencil and paper, was aware of being under close
examination.
"How've you been doing?" he asked abruptly.
"Just fine. Busy and fine."
"Put the pencil down for a minute and talk to me."
The tone, both peremptory and anxious, surprised
her, so she complied.
"I want you to level with me, Hy. You think I
don't
know you're miserable? Jerry told Gerald about what
happened last week when you were down there. And yesterday
in the coffee shop after surgery, Gerald told me.
So that's why I'm here. He was sorry about it, about
the maid and the things she said. He'd like to be able to ex
things to you himself. For the children's sake, it would be better
for you and him to have a little friendly contact now and then, he
thinks."
Arson. A man killed. Consider yourself
lucky. Get on with your life, friendly contact.
"You can tell him for me, Arnie, that he should be
ashamed of himself to give you a message like that. He
doesn't mean a word of it, for one thing. And in these
circumstances.... He knows better. So please
don't ask me again, will you?" It was an effort
to speak, and she said no more.
Arnie made a gesture of discouragement. "All
right, I won't." He sighed. "Beats me. I
guess nobody ever said divorce is easy. The
fallout from it goes on forever, maybe, like a
nuclear explosion. Me, I never married, so I
guess I wouldn't know. Why I never married?
Don't know that, either. Christ, the pretty women we
see in this kind of practice! Maybe that's what
boggled my mind. You know, plastic surgery, when
I was a beginner, I thought I was fixing up war
wounds, accidents, and stuff like that. But most of it's
turned out to be making women look younger."
Gerald, too, had had aspirations. She
remembered that young man in Texas who had been
born with half a nose, and how Gerald had
described the awful, freakish face, and how he had
been remade, given a new
personality. So now it's pretty women,
she thought. Well, that's all right. Somebody has
to help them, too. And if some of them make extra
payments to the doctor in bed, that's all right, too,
as far as I'm concerned.
Where has the passion gone, the passion for him that fired
me from the day I first saw him until the night it
exploded into a real three-alarm fire? Gone.
Gone. Dead.
Arnie mused, "Yes, yes. Too bad. I always
tell you, don't I, that I like you both. And
Gerald-Gerald was a find for me. My first partner
was a dud. Poor handling of patients, and too many
botched jobs in the OR. Lucky we weren't
sued. But they're already talking about Gerald. He's
the coming man down there. Top of the line, he is.
Matter of fact, I'm thinking of cutting back,
taking less pay, and leaving more to him. Not that I'm
old. God, I'm not fifty yet. But I'd like
to start taking it a little easier, spend more time
outdoors with my horses."
He was settling in for a cozy chat, and she began
to feel impatience, recalling that occasionally he was
given to such spurts of talk. When he gave her a
long look, she had a quick recall of Francine's
remark:
"This man's a little bit crazy about you."
The thought unsettled her, and she seized at once
on his last word to remark about horses.
"Plural, Arnie? You've bought a companion for
Major?"
"This is different. I ride Major. The new
one's a Thoroughbred, a beauty. He's a
racehorse. I board him at the same place,
though. Paid a fortune for him. You can
make a fortune, too, if he wins, but if he
doesn't, it's still a hobby, full of thrills. You
never watched a race?"
"No, never."
It was a pity to be impatient with Arnie. For all
his tough-sounding speech, his styled hair, and his
sporty yellow silk tie printed with bridles and
saddles, he had a quality of youthful artlessness that
was in some way touching.
"Yes, it's an expensive hobby, but if I can
afford it, why not? When I take a flyer and I
win, I like to treat myself. Bought a honey of a little
Mercedes over the weekend. Not quite up to a
Lamborghini yet." He laughed. "But I always
give a big hunk of the win to charity. Kids'
hospitals or something. Salves my
conscience." He laughed again. "Say, you're a kid
yourself, back to school. How's it going?"
"Fine. It's interesting. I like it. I wasn't
sure I would, but I do."
"Sure. So maybe
it's
fine, but
you're
not." Again, he stared at her. "This is no way
to live. Look at this dump. And your supper here,
a sandwich from the deli. When I think of the dinners you
made in that house, a queen couldn't eat better.
Why the hell don't you take Gerald's money?
He's making enough, for God's sake. He's
making plenty."
"Arnie, you already know the answer, and a minute ago you
said that you wouldn't ask-was
Waving away the objection, he continued, "This is
no place for you. Weren't you able to do any better
than this even without his money?"
"I have nothing except what I got when the house was
sold. I've put the money away, and I have
to live on the interest income. Have you any idea
what apartments cost in this city?"
"Sure do. That's why I don't have one.
It's cheaper and a lot more convenient to go to the Waldorf
or someplace for a couple of nights when I come
here." Arnie stood up and peered into the bedroom.
"Geez, the place is bare as a stable. Major
lives better. Why didn't you
bring
some of your furniture at least?"
"Why, Arnie, it wouldn't fit here, can't you see?
It wouldn't belong in the first place. And in the
second, it literally wouldn't fit. Neither of the sofas
would get up the stairs and through this door."
"I guess you're right," he said almost mournfully.
"When I think. When I think of last Christmas
at your house! It was sad without the kids' father, but
they had you and your mother, and it was a picture, the way
they looked eating chocolate cake and- What are you
going to do, make Christmas for them here, for God's
sake?"
She wished he would only go away and leave her
alone. And in spite of herself, her eyes filled so
that, not wanting him to see them, she got up to look out
of the window. It was past dusk, but the street was as
well lit as a stage on which diverse people, shabby and
stylish, young and old, the working fathers coming home, the
patrons of a Chinese restaurant, and the
literati shopping for antique books, all went
about their affairs. All had a lively purpose,
or looked as if they did. They had somebody,
husband or wife, children or friends or lover, waiting
for them, or they looked as if they had.
Arnie's arm went around her shoulders and turned her
toward him. "Don't cry," he said gently.
He should not have said it, because immediately, the tears welled
up again.
"I wish to hell I knew what this was all about,"
he said, still very gently.
"He thinks I did it! That's why he's punishing
me."
In the next instant after she had spoken these words, and
long after that, Hyacinth would have retracted them if she
could. To think that she had let such shockingly dangerous
words slip out of her mouth! Who could say that they would
never slip carelessly out of Arnie's mouth sometime?
"That you did what?"
"Set the fire. Burned down your building."
"What?" he cried, and released her. His eyes were
wide in horror, "What? I don't believe
it!"
"Yes, yes, it's true."
And then something, some inner check occurred, and
she was able to see that some amends, at least, must be
made.
"Yes, isn't it crazy? When I was nowhere near
the building? I hadn't been there in weeks. I was
home with the children."
"He must be out of his mind," Arnie said. "Why the
hell would you do a thing like that?"
"Very simple. On account of Sandy."
"Why, if anybody did it, I'll tell you, it
would have been Sandy. I wouldn't put it past the cheap
tramp."
Now, suddenly, fright grew into panic. And
Hyacinth, grasping Arnie's lapels, looked
straight into his eyes.
"Oh my God, you won't ever tell him or
anybody what I just said, will you, Arnie?"
"Of course not, Hy. Would I hurt you?"
His eyes looked straight back into hers. They were very
kind.
"No, I don't think you would," she said.
"Your mother approves of me." He was making a little
teasing joke. "And if she does, that should be enough for you.
She's pretty smart, that lady is."
With the fancy handkerchief from his breast pocket, he
wiped her eyes. "Trust me, Hyacinth.
I have already comforgotten what you told me. If
anyone ever asks, and nobody will-why should
they?-I'll say I don't know what they're
talking about. Fm thinking of those two little kids, and
I'm thinking of you. This is awful. You've been very
unjustly accused."
"I don't want this to change your relationship with
Gerald. The one thing has nothing to do with the other." And
recovering herself, she added with some little pride, "Fm
not a spoiler."
"The last person in the world, Hy. The last."
Arnie threw up his hands. "But dammit all, you
can't live here. Listen to me, you've got to get a
decent apartment where the kids can come. A nice
place near Central Park, where they can play, go
horseback riding and stuff. Get your things out of
storage, and make it look like something. Has
Francine seen this?"
"No. She hasn't been in New York."
She would be shocked. Moira would be shocked.
Anyone who had ever known her would be.
"Oh boy, I can imagine her face when she
walks in
here! No, you've got to get a decent place, and the
sooner the better. A place near the
park, I said,"
"I know I need a place for my children, so they'll be
able to visit me. That's why I'm trying to get
ahead, trying to fit myself to earn something. But do you know
what you're saying? I couldn't pay for a doorknob
in the neighborhood you're talking about."
"That's because you don't know the right people. I've got a
guy in mind right now, big real estate mogul.
Owes me a favor. I'll get him to find you a
rental you can afford. I offered before to help you, but you
went ahead without me."
"Arnie, you're an angel, but even angels
don't make a habit of performing miracles."
"Well, this angel will. You'll see. Do I get
a kiss?"
Although she was hoping for the customary friendly kiss, she
was prepared for the other kind and so was relieved when the
kiss was merely a conventional brush across each cheek
before he ran out and down the four flights of stairs.
From the front window, she saw him at the curb
waiting for a cab, then catching one and leaping into it.
He was intensely masculine, and most women would
find him very attractive, she thought. But she did not
find him so. They had no interests at all in
common. Yet strangely enough, he
understood her, and for that she was grateful to him.
He really is a puzzle, she thought again. But then,
aren't we all?
The movers had departed three days ago, and already the
place was in order. Still marveling, Hyacinth stood
in the foyer, from which the entire spread-the two
bedrooms, the little office or den where she might work
and Jerry might sleep, these and all the rest-could be
seen. Indeed, she was overwhelmed. Nearer to the East
River than to upper Fifth Avenue, where Old
Money and New Money both lived in grandeur, the
area was prosperous enough to provide comfort and space.
In early spring now, there were ginkgo trees greening
on the street; you could walk to the river and watch the
boats go by, or you could walk westward, not too
far, to the great, blossoming park, where she would go on
their next school vacation with her children.
In the top drawer of her desk lay a list of the
places- the museums and children's concerts, and the
Statue of Liberty-that they would visit. She liked
to think that
the very sight of that desk, and so many other familiar
objects from home, would be meaningful to them and would in
some way bind them closer to her again. Inanimate
things have strong powers to evoke emotions.
Surely, the little round kitchen table would recall the
milk and cookies they had so often eaten there after
school. Then there was the cuckoo clock, by which they had
learned to tell time. But perhaps she was attributing
to children an adult sensitivity that they did not yet have,
Or perhaps, like some people, they would never have it. And if so,
maybe that was all to the good. . . .
Given the comparative size of the former house and the
present apartment, it was inevitable that most of her
possessions were still in storage waiting for that wonderful
future that Francine assured her was coming. Even
so, she had given away some of the choicest articles:
the bed that she had shared with Gerald, the great leather wing
chair with its ottoman on which his feet had rested,
and the dining-room table over which he had presided. Now
there was nothing here that reminded her particularly of him.
"Wait till you get it fixed up," Arnie, with his
usual enthusiasm, had said on that first day, when he
had brought her here to see the apartment.
Vacant then, it had seemed enormous-and shockingly
expensive. And so she had exclaimed, "Arnie!
You know I can't afford this. You might as well take
me to see a Vanderbilt mansion, if they still have one
around here."
He had been very patient. "I told you,
Hy, that I could make a deal. You'll pay
peanuts for this-provided that you don't let the story
leak out. The guy would have half
a million tenants at his throat if you did.
Geez, he must own a few thousand apartments. He
won't miss a few thousand bucks rent here."
"It still doesn't make any sense," she had
protested. "It's ridiculous, the little I pay."
"That's because you don't know anything about business. He
owes me a favor, I told you. So pay your rent
and enjoy it. Let the kids come and enjoy it."
That had ended the discussion and should have settled the
matter, except that of course Hyacinth herself now
owed Arnie a favor, a huge one.
"And there is no way in the world that I can ever repay
it," she had told Francine over the telephone.
"Obviously, he thinks there is, and he's hoping you
will."
If that really should be the case, Hyacinth thought now,
I have been very unjust to him in allowing him to get such
an idea. But I don't think I have been. What
have I ever done to encourage him? Perhaps I should not have
accepted this favor. But the temptation had been too
great.
And for what must be the hundredth time, she
looked around, feeling the atmosphere. It was so
blessedly quiet here. The rooms downtown had been
battered with noise around the clock; the life of the
street and the life inside the old building had
seemed to be taking place inside her very head. It
was so blessedly light here; the sun and the night sky,
equally, laid their glow on the walls and the floor.
Arnie's housewarming flowers had just been delivered,
and they were everywhere. There was an arrange
ment on the table in the dining ell; an unidentified
flowering shrub, probably rare and expensive,
stood in a handsome porcelain container between the
living-room windows, and on the night table next
to her bed stood a tiny vase of pink rosebuds.
She went to the telephone to call him at his hotel
and thank him.
"You just caught me," he said. "I'm throwing my
stuff into a suitcase to catch a night plane
back home."
"I thought you were staying longer," she answered for lack
of anything more to say.
"Hey, I'm not retired. I work. And this time I
didn't have any business in town for an excuse.
I came to see you moved in."
"What a friend you are! You do far too much,"
she said, meaning it. "I'm sorry you won't see
my mother. She's coming tomorrow, and I thought you might have
dinner with us."
"Your mother? Great. Good thing she never saw the other
place."
"I know. I never would have heard the end of it, would
I?"
"And she would be right. I like Francine, in case
you're wondering. And do you know why? Because she likes
me a lot better than you do."
"That's not fair, Arnie. I do like you. How could I
not?"
"Well, well. We'll let that go."
"I'm sorry you won't be here for dinner. I'm
trying out the kitchen. It's ages since I've
cooked anything."
"Then you must be feeling better," he said gently.
"Isn't that what it means?"
"Not really. It means that I'm learning to survive.
It's either that or quit."
"Don't quit, Hy. Never quit."
Franeine said, as they put the last dish into the
washer, "I haven't had a dinner like this in ages.
Either I eat out, or else I throw something together for
myself, and I needn't tell you the result
is not like your result. You're a mystery to me,
Hyacinth. You always were."
Was she going to start another harangue about the
divorce and the children? Oh, please not, prayed
Hyacinth. No, not this time. Her smile was fond,
a motherly smile.
"And here you are, studying fashion of all things, you,
the jeans-and-sweater lady."
"Maybe I've inherited a touch of the fashion
business from you. Just the smallest touch."
Franeine reached for a notebook on the living-room
table. "They remind me of your paintings, the way you
did figures, your father lying in the hammock, or
me in my white dress."
"A lot of fashion people like to paint, too. Some
really famous designers started out as sketchers. You
show the first sketch to the manufacturer to see whether
he's interested."
"Maybe you'll be one of the famous fashion people."
The remark was fatuous. Franeine had no idea
of the competition, of the raw, cutthroat rivalries,
the people who promise and fail to keep the promise, the
businesses that zoom to the top in favor and
collapse before they have barely gotten used to being on
top. If I can just
make some sort of a decent living, thought Hyacinth-
and thought for the hundredth time-something in a steady way, a
bit more dependable than the dresses I sold to the
R. T. J.. Miller store. ... Always, always,
no matter what she might be thinking or doing, at every
living minute, that need was there. Without any rational
basis, it was there. Even when she was taking pleasure
in her work-and as she progressed and did well, it was
really pleasurable-the need was there.
Often, in the middle of a conversation, she found herself
drifting away. Talking to someone about anything at
all, her mind abruptly produced a picture:
Jerry, showing all his teeth when he laughed. Or
her mind asked a question: It's four o'clock. Are they
on their way to the riding school?
Now she forced herself back to the moment, to the pretty
room and Francine waiting for her to speak. And
isn't it odd that two human beings, unless they are
occupied with a book or something specific, cannot be
together without talking? It is actually offensive not
to talk, as if to say that one is bored, indifferent,
or angry.
"I bought something on the spur of the moment this afternoon,"
Hyacinth said. "It's something I can't afford, and I
can't believe I did it."
"Let's see it."
From the hall closet, Hyacinth brought out a roll
of multicolored, patterned cloth, unrolled it,
and hung it from her arm to display.
"It was in a decorator's window," she exed.
"Upholstery fabric. Feel the weight. But it's
no heavier, really, than a genuine Scottish
kilt. I thought what a
fabulous skirt it would make. And the colors!
Don't they remind you of stained glass, all those
cobalts and rubies?"
"It's certainly different."
"You wouldn't like it?"
"I don't know. When would you wear it, and with what?"
"Wear it anytime you want to. With boots and a
thick sweater, or in the evening with a silk shirt and a
ruby- and-diamond necklace out of the family
vault. But in that case, you should be accompanied by a
detective."
Something about those colors made her feel good in
spite of herself, and Hyacinth laughed. "I bought some
grass green silk the other day, too. I happened
to be downtown and found it on sale." She did not
say that she had bought it at a textile
wholesaler's near where she had been living.
"It's cheap stuff to start with, but the color is
wonderful, and I thought it would be good for cutting
practice. I like to practice at home."
"Let's see it."
"Look. Isn't it lovely? It reminds me of a
lawn after a good rain."
"And what would you do with this?"
"Drape it very simply. But not so simply that it
looks like underwear. Too many things look like underwear,
or else like Halloween costumes."
"Go on. Tell me more."
"Well of course, it would take a woman with a
marvelous figure to wear a simple dress in such
a vivid color. A woman with a figure like yours.
Would you let me try out the drape on you?"
Francine was amused. "Why not?"
"All right. Let me get some pins. We had a
lesson in draping technique yesterday. It's
really hard. I'm going to try Grecian folds.
Stand perfectly still." Through a mouthful of pins, she
kept on talking. "A dress like this ought to be
hand-sewn. People don't realize, at least I never
did, that hand-sewing is what makes all the
difference. It's what you get at the couturiers in
Paris. It's what you pay for. Granny
could have worked in a place like that. I never realized it
until now."
"How on earth can you talk with that mouthful of pins?"
"Easy. It makes me feel professional."
Concentrating, she fell silent. For an instant,
she saw herself at the easel with a brush in hand; she
felt the same peaceful absorption in creating a
shape, making something out of nothing. She pinned and
took out and pinned again. The material slithered under
her fingers. It would go more easily with a firmer,
better fabric. The line of the skirt below the hips
would be crisper, like the diagonal of a triangle.
Still, this was not going to be too bad.
"There's a full-length mirror in the bathroom,"
she said at last. "Go in and tell me how you like
yourself."
In a second, Francine returned. "I don't
believe it," she cried. "Putting a dress together
in no time. You, Hyacinth."
"Well, we have big-name designers coming to teach.
If you pay attention, you can learn something, that's
all."
"You had this skill before you went there. Don't tell
me everybody in the school picked this up from a few
lectures."
"It's not quite like that. There's a lot of hands-on work,
too. Would you like me to sew this for you? Would you wear
it?"
"Why, darling, I'd put a sign on it with your
name! Pd be as proud as Emma was when you made the
rose dress for her."
At the mention of Emma, there was an instant silence.
Francine's sigh was barely audible before, with
obvious intent, she spoke cheerfully,
"I see now how art led you into this. Everything's
carried over, hasn't it? The sense of form and
proportion- it's all there. You know, I have
to apologize, Hyacinth. You were right about making this
career choice, and I was wrong in objecting. I
told myself I had no right to an opinion because I
don't know much about art, yet the truth is-well,
what you're doing now is really brilliant. This
seems almost effortless. This time it's the real you."
She stopped. "I hope I haven't hurt your
feelings," she said softly.
Francine and Will Miller. Two people who never knew
each other and never would. She had kept her opinion
to herself, and he had bluntly thrown his into her face.
"Do you still go into any of the R.j. Miller stores?"
she asked.
"No. The one at home closed recently, and now
the one where you used to live, in fact the whole chain,
has been bought out by some conglomerate. They were old and
nice but behind the times, I guess."
Hyacinth felt like a fool for remembering a man with
whom she could not have spent a total of more than six
or seven hours. Yet now and then on the street,
she would see somebody who for some trivial
reason-long strides, horn-rimmed glasses, or
a ruddy face-reminded her of him. There was no
reason for it.
"I miss you," Francine said. "At least I
used to be able to get in the car every couple of weeks and
drive over."
"So now you can take the train and be here just as quickly.
Isn't your room nice?"
"V. But I didn't know you'd have a room for me.
I left my bag at the hotel."
"You didn't! You went to a hotel? Oh, I'm
sorry. I thought you understood."
"No problem. Next time I'll know. At least
I've seen where you live, and I feel better."
"I pay half nothing for it, too, remember."
"You don't really believe Arnie's story, do
you?"
"Why shouldn't I believe it?"
"Because this is a very expensive building, and people
scarcely do things like this for their own brothers, let
alone for a friend. No, dear, Arnie is paying for it
and giving you a handsome present."
"Dad would say, "Francine, you're off the deep
end again." Can't you hear him?"
"Oh, really?" Francine's eyebrows rose.
"Well, we'll see. What are you going to say when
he asks you to marry him?"
"He won't," said Hyacinth. "I've told you
that. It's ridiculous. I'm not his type, and he's
not mine."
"Well, we'll see. It would be a tricky
connection,
anyway. Too close to Gerald." For a moment
Francine paused, frowned slightly, and then
impetuously burst out, "What are you going to do about
your children? I don't understand you. When are you going
to tell me what this crazy business is all about?
Am I a stranger whom you can't trust? Am I?"
The black wave came back and swept over
Hyacinth. Determined not to drown again, she fought
back.
"It's not a matter of trust. It's a
matter of privacy. Yes, you're my mother and I'm
your child, but I'm not
a
child."
Last week the authorities had found a man who,
ten years before, had set fire to his estranged
wife's house. They found him in Oklahoma. How
they found him, Hyacinth didn't know. She didn't
want to read the whole article. Somebody must have
seen him or heard something comwhat was the difference? It
seemed to her that hardly a month went by without her
reading about somebody who thought he was safe but
wasn't.
"All right. Maybe you'll think better of it
someday." Francine stood up. "It's late, and
I've got a day's worth of errands tomorrow. I
don't get to New York that often."
Hyacinth, too, stood up. And pleading now, she
said, "Don't be angry. Please. It's very
hard-was
"Yes, hard and sad, and I'd best drop it. Pm
sorry I brought the subject up because we never get
anywhere with it, do we?" Francine put on her
jacket, belted it smartly around her narrow waist,
and took her handbag. "I guess we
won't be seeing each other for a while. The Child
Welfare League is sending a committee
to Mexico, and I'm to be there as a volunteer
observer for
six weeks. I thought I'd stop off in Florida
on the way. One thing that's good about knowing Arnie is
that I can call him when I want to see Emma and
Jerry. I'll give them your love."
"I speak to them almost every day, you know."
"Even so. Well, I'll be going."
They kissed, and Hyacinth said, "I'll really
make the dress if you want it. And if I can
manage, you'll have it in time to take with you
to Mexico."
"Thanks. I'd love that, but don't push yourself.
Take care of yourself."
"You, too."
The elevator came. Francine stepped in and
vanished. Another cool leave-taking. Discreet,
polite, and cool, thought Hyacinth. I think all
the time about the way it used to be when the children were
babies, and how fresh and jolly and close we all
were.
Gerald had thrown a stone into the pond, and the
ripples were still spreading.
Time,
she read. And again she read Tennyson's old words,
old but still true, and so befitting to her own condition.
And Time, a maniac scattering dust, And Life,
a Fury slinging flame.
Flame! How apt, she thought, and closed the book.
It was late. From where she sat, on an evening some
weeks later, the city existed as a scattered
sparkle against
the night sky, itself stained faintly pink by the
sparkle. No sound carried fourteen stories above
the street, so the room was filled with silence. In the
summers of her past life, the nights had been loud
with cricket chirps, interrupted on occasion by a
dog's bark or the slam of a screen door.
At the end of the hall, the children were asleep. Tomorrow they
would be going home, back to Gerald's house.
Magnanimously, she thought with a bitterness so sharp that
it pained her chest, he had allowed her these two
weeks. In a way it was more painful to have Jerry and
Emma here so briefly and then to part with them, than it
was to speak to them on the telephone; the intervals between
visits were too long, but the telephone, thanks
to Arnie's intervention, was always there.
Thanks to Arnie. He had predicted that
the apartment would bring luck, and it had indeed brought much
improvement. At least the children knew they had a
"place" with their mother; the loss of the old house had
disturbed them more deeply than she had expected it
to. And she reflected now upon the influence of
"things," for it had seemed that they had missed the house
more than they missed her!
Granny's clock bonged eleven times. It was too
loud, but the children slept soundly through every stroke. The
reverberation died away, and still Hyacinth sat, wide
awake, thinking that she ought to go to bed. There were only a
few hours left; tomorrow Jerry wanted to go to the
Museum of Natural History to see the
dinosaurs again. After that they would have lunch, and after that,
late in the afternoon, Arnie, who had taken
advantage of
this weekend for one of his business trips to New
York, would fly back to Florida with them.
He had come to seem almost like family. Often it was
easier to talk to him than to Francine. He never
questioned.
And the children had so much fun with him, not that Francine ever
failed to be wonderful with them, but Arnie was
different.
He and his horses were now a big part of their
lives. It was amazing to watch Jerry's relaxed
handling of a creature so much larger than he, and to hear
him talk about the Thoroughbred and the Tennessee
Walker. Arnie would chuckle and encourage him.
"You'd better keep up," he would tease Jerry,
"because in a couple of years Emma's going to trot
right along with you."
"Then I'll canter," Jerry would retort.
"I suppose I should learn to ride," Hyacinth
said once, and Arnie had agreed that she certainly
should. But what for? For these occasional trips
to Florida? Let them enjoy their horses with
Arnie.
Let them be the beneficiaries of his kindness. We,
my children and I, she thought, are only one among all
his charities. He was an extraordinary giver,
Gerald had told her, one of those rich, childless
men who love to give of their money and their time.
Francine, of course, had a different explanation,
and although she had not said as much, Hyacinth had an
idea that she would actually welcome some attachment,
marriage or otherwise, between Arnie and her
daughter.
"Now that you're free," she had counseled more than
once, "you should be getting out more. A young
woman
needs some emotional attachment"-meaning obviously,
"You are too young for a celibate life."
As if anybody in good health were ever too old! But
it wasn't all that simple. She longed to be
loved! But there is no one, she thought. I work all
day among students younger than I am, or else they
are already committed to someone else. Or else they are
not-and many of them are not-interested in women at all.
There is no one.
The clock bonged midnight. On stocking feet,
she went to her children's beds to stand in the hall's pale
beam of light, just gazing at them. Life. Life and
Time.
"Don't you know I always like to do things in style?"
Arnie made a joke of the question, but he meant it
nevertheless. And he knew that Hyacinth knew it,
too. He had hired a limousine to take them to the
airport.
Emma and Jerry were tired and half asleep. They
had tramped through the museum from top to bottom to top
and back, and then walked through the park to the apartment and
fetched their suitcases; now they had what Hyacinth
told them were "museum feet."
"You'll sleep all the way on the
plane," Arnie said. "And when you arrive, the
attendant will wake you because this plane doesn't go
any farther."
Hyacinth was startled. "Attendant? Do you mean
you're not going with them?"
"I have to stay over and meet a guy tomorrow morning about
some property. They'll be fine. That's what I was
talking about just now with the attendant." And when she
looked dubious and distressed, he assured her
that thousands of children all over the country traveled between
their divorced parents these days.
"Signs of the times. I phoned Gerald this morning
and he approves, and nobody could be more careful of his
kids than he is. You'll have to give him that much,
Hy."
Still anxious, she asked Jerry, "Do you mind flying
back without Uncle Arnie?"
"Aw Mom, I'm nine years old," said he,
jutting his jaw and stiffening his small shoulders. "I
can take care of Emma."
"You will not! I take care of myself!" Emma
shrieked with such an air of insulted dignity that
Hyacinth had to laugh.
So she watched until they were out of sight at the end
of the jetway. Jerry was carrying both
suitcases, while Emma, perhaps forgetting her
dignity, trotted behind him holding closely to his
jacket. If it had been permitted, their mother would have
run and clasped them both again.
"You angry at me?" asked Arnie as they turned
away.
"A little. You should have told me."
"Then you wouldn't have let them go alone."
She had to admit that was true. Sometimes he annoyed
her with his way of giving advice and taking charge.
Absurd as it would sound if it were put into words, she
had a feeling that he was treating her possessively,
as a husband might, for her own good.
"I've reserved a table for us at my hotel," he
said abruptly.
Having planned to go home and get into bed to read, she
was not entirely pleased. And thanking him, she very
tactfully said that she had to get up early and would
love to do it the next time.
"You're not going to bed at eight o'clock," he insisted.
"I'll have you home early enough. Don't disappoint
me." And he gave her his very attractive smile,
part coax and part plea.
Through gathering darkness, the heavy car rolled smoothly
down the highway. Lulled after a while by the
gliding motion, she willed her shoulders to relax their
tension. The plush, comfortable little space in which she was
sitting gave her a feeling of safety and
protection. It was a long time since she had been
aware of such a feeling; she had grown unused to it.
And silently, to herself, she repeated: relax,
relax.
The dinner, as expected, was the best, as were the
surroundings, softly rose and gray with flowers in
harmony, and unobtrusive piano music in the
distance at the far end of the room.
Arnie was watching her. He was amused when she took
out a palm-sized notebook and scribbled something beneath
the protection of the table.
"Working here, too?"
"Sorry. It's become a habit. The thing is,
if I don't get something down on paper when I
see it, I risk forgetting it. And you never know when
some little thing will catch your eye. It might be something
on the street or at a costume movie."
"What did you see just now?"
"Don't laugh. A man came in wearing a dark
blue suit. The woman with him was wearing chocolate
brown, and the colors were perfect together. I want
to remind myself of that."
"You really like what you're doing, don't you?"
"Well, it's not exactly what I wanted to do with
my life, but that's the way things are." She stopped.
Then, having had no previous intent to ask this question,
she did ask it. "Does Gerald ever say anything
about me? Does he really know how much you do for
Emma and Jerry?"
"He never says anything about you, Hy. I would
tell you if he did. We don't get a chance
to talk much, anyway. We've a busy office, a
madhouse some days. When we're not working, we go our
separate ways. Maybe that's why our arrangement
works out so well. Gerald's got his own social
life." Winking at Hyacinth, he added, "He's
younger than I am. But yes, he does
appreciate the fact that the kids like me."
Hyacinth was touched. If anything were to go wrong,
Arnie's shrewd insight would recognize it. The
nanny was all right enough, but you couldn't have the same
faith in her judgment. She would still take any
problems to Gerald, not to me, she thought. The nanny
does not approve of me.
"I'll never know how to thank you," she said. And she
raised the wineglass to her lips to hide the moistening
of her eyes.
"It's been a hard day for you, Hy, having to see
them leave," He laid a kind hand over hers.
"Buck up. You're doing great. You're a great
girl. You've got heart and stamina, like a great
horse. Come on, I'm kidding you.
You're no horse, you're a damn handsome woman,
and you need another glass of wine. Don't argue with
me. And eat. You've lost too much weight.
Don't you do any cooking in that nice kitchen you
have?"
The mention of "kitchen" brought something to mind. For a
while, Francine's idea about the apartment lease had
seemed foolish, and Hyacinth had dismissed it, but
now in an odd way, as she felt the warmth of
Arnie's hand, it did not seem quite as foolish.
And she said suddenly, "My mother doesn't believe
that the apartment rents for so little. She doesn't
believe your story that your friend reduced the rent as a
favor."
"No? And so who reduced it, if not my friend?"
"Nobody. You pay the balance every month."
"Well," he said. "Well."
"I was stupid and childish not to have guessed that you were
doing it."
"For a childish woman, you aren't doing too
badly."
Now his hand was stroking hers. His nails were
immaculate, and she liked that; too many men were
careless about their black-rimmed nails. His
wristwatch was a sculptured gold band, like a
bracelet; tiny diamonds were embedded in his gold
cuff links, and she did not like that. But the second
glass of wine was beginning to buzz in her head, and
what difference did it make, anyway?
"I wanted you to have a decent place for the kids,
Hy. And for yourself, too. You're a lovely woman.
The women I meet are all the same,
interchangeable, you know what I mean? They look the
same and they talk
the same, mostly nonsense. You're a bookworm,
and still you're never boring. I've never felt this way
about anybody. You're probably too good for me
to get any idea about you. I guess I've told
you this before. If I haven't, I meant to."
Hyacinth switched the subject. "You're too kind
to me, Arnie. As soon as I finish up and get a
job, I'm going to pay you back for everything."
"Don't be a fool. Do you think I'd accept it?
Drink the wine. It's a hundred and fifty
dollars a bottle, for God's
sake-don't waste it. And caviar-eat it up! I
won't even tell you what that costs."
"He sprinkles money,"
Gerald had said.
"You'd think it was water. Well, he's got no
wife, no children, no house
-
that makes a difference,"
"When we're through here, I want you to come upstairs
a minute, Hy. I want to show you something."
"Not your etchings?"
She was not sure whether her remark was witty or
merely stupid. But at any rate, he laughed and
exed that, no, the things were only some toys he had
bought for the kids and hadn't wanted to entrust to their care
on the plane.
Upstairs in his room, he displayed a fancy,
expensive calculator for Jerry and a marvelous
doll in riding clothes, complete from helmet
to jodhpurs, for Emma. When these had been
wholeheartedly admired, he brought out a small
velvet box.
On seeing it, Hyacinth felt a shock. Could he
possibly have in his head what Francine always
swore he
had? But no. It was only-although
only
was hardly the right word-a very fine gold chain holding a
pendant made of two cherubs, female and male,
with large diamond eyes.
"Turn around. Let me put it on for you," he
commanded.
In the mirror that hung between the windows, she beheld
herself. Her cheeks were flushed. Her dark hair
gleamed, her eyes gleamed, and the pendant gleamed on
the white skin above her cleavage.
"Oh, Arnie," she cried, "it's lovely!
Lovely. But-was
"But I shouldn't have done it," he mocked. "And why
shouldn't I, please?"
Because,
she wanted to say, and did not say, still
am already too obligated to you, and I don't want
to be.
"You do too much," she murmured. "It gets harder
to find words to thank you."
"You can at least give me a kiss."
Obligingly, she moved toward his cheek, but he,
moving faster, pulled her to himself and found her mouth
instead. Her first impulse was to resist, but
as he increased the pressure, her strength rushed
away, and they stood there, firmly attached from mouth
to hip. Now her will rushed away, and thoughts raced through
her agitated mind: It's the wine, I'm weak,
it's been two years since I've felt anything.
His fingers were undoing the buttons of her blouse, which
opened in front. His skin was fragrant with pine,
or spices, or sweet hay. He was strong. Her
thoughts kept repeating: It's been so long. How good
not to resist, to float. Close your eyes. Let
him. ...
They were in a suite, and when she opened her eyes,
she saw past a door that was ajar. She saw a bed
already turned down for the night; it was white and crisp.
There he would take off her clothes and lay her down-
Oh, no! What are you doing, Hyacinth? You
wanted
somebody,
but not just
anybody.
You don't want
this
man. You'll be sorry five minutes afterward if you
do this. Oh, no!
"What is it?" Arnie cried.
She was so ashamed! And he would be terribly angry.
He would think she was a common tease, one of those
despicable women who lead a man on and then deny
him.
"I can't. Arnie, I can't," she whispered.
"Please don't be angry at me."
Like hers, his face was flushed. He had been ready,
and she had hurt him, had hurt this very decent,
kindly man.
"Fm sorry. Oh God, I'm sorry. It
isn't you, Arnie, it's just that suddenly I got
scared. I don't understand myself. I guess I'm just
not ready yet."
Absurdly, they were still standing there, only inches apart.
For a moment, neither spoke. Arnie's eyes had
narrowed, his face hardened.
"What do you think you're doing?" he began, and
stopped. "No. You didn't start it. I did.
I'm sorry, too. Button your blouse." And
he turned away, for her breast was exposed. And he
repeated quietly now, "It's not your fault. I
started it."
Some women would say that a night in bed was little enough
to give him for all the good he had already done
her. But she was just not one of those women, not
able to do it.
He must have read the doubt and regret on her face,
because he tried to comfort her. "You have no trust left.
That's what it is. I understand."
"Yes, you do understand, and without knowing half of it."
Her knees were so weak that she had to sit down. She
trembled, and he saw that. He saw everything.
"Am I unstable?" she whispered.
He came to sit next to her. "What? Unstable?"
he asked.
"Gerald thinks I am. Am I?"
"Well, if you ever were, Hy, you sure as hell
aren't now."
It was wild, it was utterly reckless and senseless, this
need that all of a sudden possessed her. It was
jumping off a cliff into midstream, throwing her life
away. But she did it now. She did the unthinkable.
"I
was
in the office that night. I've already told you that
Gerald thinks I did it. He isn't altogether
wrong. I was in the office that night, and I lied to you
before. I guess I didn't know you well enough to trust
you with my life."
And she continued, "I was smoking. You
remember that I was almost addicted then? Haven't you
noticed that now I never touch a cigarette? I
made a vow: Oh God, never again."
"Jesus, I'm sick!" Arnie said, and he
looked it,
sicVery
and aghast.
"I went crazy, you see. I trashed everything and
walked up and down, smoking one cigarette after the
other. That's how the fire started. It was all on
account of that girl, and now here I am!" she cried.
"Here I am. That's the reason he has my children.
That's what it's all about. I had to sign them
away, don't you see? Or else, or else-was
"I do
see,"
he said gently. "I do."
"Even now I'm not out of the woods. And I never,
never will be. I shall never have my children. I shall never
forget the innocent man who died because of me."
When he put his arm around her, she laid her head
on his shoulder; no passion now, no desire was in the
contact this time, only the will on his part to give some
comfort, and on her part the need to receive whatever he could
give.
"It was an accident, Arnie, I swear it was.
The curtains must have caught fire, and so it spread.
Do
you
believe I did it on purpose? Tell me
honestly, do you?"
"Knowing you, I'll say absolutely not. I
don't see why he should make such a charge and be so
upset, anyway. It wasn't even his building.
I owned it."
"He was tired of me," she said simply, "and that
gave him art excuse. Now he has all the
pleasure of his children without the nuisance of me."
"You, a nuisance?"
"It happens all the time."
"It wouldn't happen to me if you would-I don't know
whether you ever would consider-no, now's not the moment."
Suddenly, a terrible fear surged through Hyacinth's
blood and chilled her very bones. What had she done?
Clutching his arms, she stared into his face, crying
wildly, "Arnie! You would never let anything of this
slip, would you? Not by accident? I trust you,
Arnie! It's my life! My children's lives,
too, if the worst should happen to me. I haven't
even told Francine. I'm afraid she
would get so enraged one day that she would go to Gerald,
and that would be the end of me. She despises him."
"Hy, put it out of your mind. I've already forgotten
it. I never heard it. You never told me anything."
Perhaps she had been naive. Naivete was her
major flaw, Francine said, and Gerald had said
it often enough, too. Yet sometimes in this life, you have
to trust somebody.
"I trust you, Arnie," she repeated.
He stood up. "I'm going to get a taxi and
take you home." He kissed each cheek. "I'm
here for you, Hy, and I'll wait for you. I won't
rush you right now. But think it
For some months, on weekends and in the evenings after
classes, Hyacinth had been sewing, saving her work
and showing it to nobody. It had become her habit
to listen to music while she worked. I've gone through
ten operas, she calculated, and enough clothes to make
a small collection.
The upholstery-fabric skirt still hung in a
closet. Out of the same cobalt-and-ruby cloth,
she had made a jacket to be worn with a finely
pleated chiffon skirt, in either of those two colors.
These also hung in the closet. The apple green
dress that she had made for Francine, who
had worn it on her trip to Mexico and loved it,
had now been duplicated in green satin of the finest
quality and was naturally, she thought, twice as
successful. The same closet held a black
dress with a modified seventeenth-century ruff of
superb white lace, a suit of gray menswear
woolen piped in scarlet, a flowered linen suit,
various knee-length pants, and blouses.
One day she stood looking at them all and wondered
what they were for other than to give pleasure to her
while she created them. She had not the least desire
to wear them. The clothes she already owned were more than
adequate for her lifestyle: classes, the
weekend afternoons with a few of the women she had befriended
in the apartment building, along with Francine's
occasional visit to New York. Francine's
social life was far busier than was her
daughter's.
When she went to Florida, it was never for more than
two days at a time. The children came north, but also
briefly. Arnie, whenever he came to the city,
took her out to dinner, but never above the ground floor
of his hotel
It was as if that evening had not even occurred. A
complicated set of emotions was hers:
gratitude and a deep affection. What his feelings
after her rejection of him might be, she could only
guess. Obviously, he wanted to see her;
otherwise, why would he come to her? Surely he had
other women who gave him what she would not give him.
Perhaps it was simply a case of being sorry for her,
more especially so now that he knew the whole story.
As she stood ruminating about her life and absently
gazing at her work, she decided one day that it really
would make sense to try selling it. If it should turn
out not to make sense, nothing would have been lost. So before
fifteen minutes went by, she had swept the
closet's contents into a large flat box and gone
downstairs to call a taxi. Not ten minutes
later, she arrived at one of the city's most
fashionable Madison Avenue shops, there
to exhibit her work to the manager.
Is it possible, she asked herself as she watched him
examine the contents of the box, that he is accustomed
to such eccentric behavior as mine? For now, on
second or third thought, she was shocked by what she was
doing and would gladly have run out of the place if that would
not have been even more eccentric behavior.
Apparently, this rather elegant gentleman was not
shocked. On the contrary, he was even showing
some interest. Silent minutes passed. Tissue
paper rustled.
"I like the menswear suit piped in red with a lace
blouse beneath it," he told hei; smiling a little.
One by one, he emptied the box and examined each
article slowly, then repacked them all with care.
"Well, I don't know," he said, looking
Hyacinth up and down.
She looked back, thinking, he doesn't know how
to get rid of me nicely.
"Well, I don't know. Your work is interesting.
You didn't expect a positive answer just like that,
did you?"
Hyacinth wanted to say, sir, I didn't
expect a positive answer at all; do I
look like such a fool? Yes, I suppose I do,
or I wouldn't have come here in the first place. Look
at the names on the floors below: every big wheel from
Milan, Paris, and New York is there. And she
herself shook her head.
"How about writing your name here and your phone number,
and maybe a little bit about yourself? Give us some time
to think. You'll hear from me, one way or the other."
In a dreamlike state, not sure whether she was
fooling herself or whether the gentleman was
fooling Her,
Hyacinth picked up her box and took a taxi
back home.
When, not very many days later, the telephone rang and
she heard an unfamiliar voice, she thought at
once that it must be that gentleman's secretary
calling to tell her that Mr. So-and-So regrets, that
although he appreciates your coming to see him, etc.,
etc.
Instead, it was the secretary to a very, very famous name in
fashion: Lina Libretti. What Chanel had
been in Paris forty years ago, Libretti was today
in New York- or if not quite a Chanel, she
was-well, a Libretti. It seemed she had
been told about the clothes that Hyacinth had displayed
at that fine Madison Avenue shop. And would
Hyacinth be interested in bringing them to the office tomorrow
or the next day?
Completely overwhelmed, Hyacinth replaced the
receiver. Of course she knew Lina Libretti, and
not only because everyone else did, but also because on
several occasions Ms. Libretti had come to speak
at the Institute. She was a dark little dynamo of a
woman, still with a strong European accent. So it was that
on the following afternoon, Hyacinth set off for
Seventh Avenue with the flat box under her arm again, and
in her heart a mixture of fantastic hope along
with some very realistic, cold-water common sense.
The room was large. Enormous windows brought in the
sky, and an enormous desk littered with magazines
and sheaves of folders stood behind a large wall of
shelves filled with photographs of famous people. In
the midst of all this bigness, behind the huge desk,
sat the
tiny woman. In the classroom, she had not seemed
quite that small.
She stood up, giving Hyacinth a warm smile.
Then speaking brusquely, she got immediately down
to business. "You needn't have lugged all that stuff with
you. I know your work, your sketches. You don't
remember that I was at your class?"
"I remember it very well," said Hyacinth, thinking,
how could anybody forget?
"Yes. I remember you, too. I had had it in
my mind to talk to you at the end of the semester. I
don't believe in distracting students in the middle
of the year. But you beat me to it. You made an
impression over there." With this statement came a
wide gesture toward Madison Avenue. "I do
four collections a year, you know, and they
buy heavily from all of them. But I suppose
you've already heard that, too."
Hyacinth had only a chance to nod before the flow of
words resumed. "And you made an impression on
me, too. I have a feeling that you know something about art.
Also, that you have a feel for nature. Am I right?
Won't you sit down?"
Hyacinth was oddly affected. This woman was most out
of the ordinary, certainly most intelligent, maybe
a clairvoyant judge of people, and possibly
possessed of a fierce temper.
"Well, am I right?" repeated Ms.
Libretti.
"I do, or I have done, a great deal of painting.
And I did grow up in a very small country town."
"You see," Libretti interrupted. "I saw it
in your
work, all those leaves and shades of sky. The
freshness. Maybe that sounds like a lot of nonsense
to you, and maybe it is, but anyway, you're very good,
my dear; very good. I'm an old woman, way over
seventy, and I've seen hundreds come and go. They
all think they have the talent, the touch, poor young
things, because very few of them have it. They all think
they're original, but how many are?" She
laughed. "I'm not all that original myself. Listen.
Would you like to come work here with me? I can teach you twice
as fast as they can teach you in a class."
It seemed as if Hyacinth's heart was hammering in
her chest, her ears, and possibly in her toes as
well.
"All right. I see it on your face. You'll come.
Now undo this box and let me take a look at
your stuff. You practically knocked that poor man
off his feet with it the other day."
Looking back long afterward, Hyacinth estimated that it
had taken about half a year for her to accept the full
reality of events. For one thing, there had been so much
for her to learn that her first hour's euphoria had been
completely squelched by the second day in Lina
Libretti's establishment. At any moment, she
had expected to be informed that she was, after all, not
fitted for the work and that the whole thing was a regrettable
mistake.
She had never before seen a workroom where, under
ultimate strong lighting, sat and stood rows of men
and women sewing, cutting, pressing, and finishing the
objects of the designer's imagination. Except in
fashion
magazines, she had never seen a designer
pin and fit a living model; the only such experience
she had ever had was when she had fitted the green
dress on Francine. She knew nothing about
cutting knitted fabrics, not much about two-faced
cloth, and practically nothing at all about costs or
the whole price structure on which survival
depends.
Her mistakes were discouraging, and she feared the
reprimands that, like a whip, came cracking out of
Una's mouth whenever Hyacinth blundered or forgot.
On one discouraging afternoon, she even went so far as
to suggest that perhaps Una would like her to leave. The
response was another verbal whiplash of words,
followed by a pat on trie back and the words,
"Don't be an idiot. You'll be here long after I
will-if you want to, that is."
If you want to?
Her head seemed to teem with ideas. She went to the
costume museum, to the Chinese exhibit, to the
Central Park lake, and all were fertile ground for
her imagination. The lace on a baby's bonnet
turned into a pyramid of flounces on an
almond-colored ball gown, and a patterned sari
became the flowing sleeves on a cream-colored
sheath.
Lina nodded. "Good. Now let's cut them. Watch
me. Pay attention."
When the same store to which Hyacinth had taken her
early samples ordered several of the pieces and
displayed them under the Libretti name, an article in
a popular fashion periodical reported that the
new designer was young, and that her name was Hyacinth.
Lina was generous. "If you keep on as you've
begun,
I'm thinking about giving you full credit. You will work
in a lower price range, not low, but lower, and
we'll call your line "Lina Libretti's
Hyacinth
productions."
It was interesting to see how individuals reacted to this
sudden alteration in her life.
Francine was the loving mother. She made an immediate
trip to New York, took her to a gala dinner
at one of the city's grandest restaurants, and bought
her a bracelet to go with her new celebrity. Yet
on her face behind the proud smile, there could be
discerned a slight, the very slightest, shadow of doubt
or incredulity, as if to say that the whole business was
unreal.
Arnie showed his typical boosterism and his
typical skepticism. "Great! Great! That's
showing the world! But you're new at this, so take care.
Look around, and find out what the going pay rate
is. Don't let anybody take advantage of
you."
From Gerald there came a short, friendly letter of
congratulation. Hyacinth threw it into the wastebasket
and most certainly did not acknowledge it. Since
Gerald had not been known to subscribe to fashion
papers, it was surprising that he had even heard this
piece of news.
"You told him," she said to Arnie over the
telephone.
"I swear I didn't. Face it, Hy, you're
making a name for yourself. And after only six months,
too. But don't get a swelled head, kid."
"Time assuages sorrow." Out of silence emerged a
tag end of wisdom, something Hyacinth had learned in
school so long ago that it might have been in another
life. "Time heals everything," it meant. But for her
it didn't. It only taught her to cover up and
cope, to be grateful for work, for the health of the children,
and for an escape, so far, from the storm cloud that still
hovered overhead, ready to burst.
When I'm on the bus, thought Hyacinth, and
I see a jolly boy with his bookbag, I must
think of my own boy, who also is ten years old and
jolly. Then I think of Emma, a lanky little
girl, sensitive and full of curiosity. She
looks like her father but also like Francine, and she will be
tall, like me. Unlike me, my children have both
become accustomed to the way they live.
Everything has changed, or nothing has, depending on
what you are looking for. Between Francine and me there
is now an unspoken truce; she knows I will not
tell, so she no longer asks. Arnie is still
Arnie, lively, extravagant, and faithful; between
us two are things unspoken since the night when I
broke away from his arms. Lina is still enthusiastic.
Indeed, she is very pleased, because now, after just one
year, the Hyacinth collection is selling out in
eighteen of the most prestigious stores from coast
to coast. I am having my first taste of trunk
shows, photographers, and interviews.
Yes, everything has changed, and nothing has.
"I have something to tell you," Lina said. "Come into my
office and close the door. This is between you and me
until next week, when everybody will know it. I
am getting ready to sell this business."
"Selling it, Lina? But why? What will you
do with yourself?"
It was impossible to dissociate the little dynamo from this
building on Seventh Avenue or even from this room,
where she sat now like a queen behind that enormous loaded
desk.
"Well, I'm not thinking about doing it right away.
Fm just preparing. Then I shall enjoy the millions that
they are paying me." Una laughed. "No,
seriously, Fm tired-oh, not too tired for a trip
around the world or something, but Fm getting older, and
it's time for a change. That's where you come in,
Hyacinth."
"Me? I should think rather that it's time for me to go out."
"Nonsense. You happen to be one of the several
reasons that these people want to buy me. They're a
tremendous clothing manufactory, and like most of the
world today, they're looking to expand. Frankly, although
the gentlemen were too diplomatic to say so, they would
like to inject some young blood into this firm when they take
it over. You are the young blood, Hyacinth." And
Lina's black eyes twinkled as she waited for her
words to take effect.
Hyacinth was stunned. "You can't really believe that
Fm competent to
manage
this whole place, can you?"
"Not by next Monday morning, nor even by Monday
morning six months from now. Of course not. I shall
stay on as adviser for as long as seems necessary. You
will keep the same staff, sales managers,
accountants, the whole lot of them, to help you. You will
go on as you have been doing. Eventually, if you keep
up as I expect, you'll sit where I'm sitting."
Was it yesterday afternoon that she had left class and
walked into this room, so vast and imposing, to meet
Lina Libretti? Yesterday that, on her front
steps she had said a sad good-bye to Moira?
Yesterday that she had sat in the church at that poor
man's funeral?
"I can't believe that this is happening to me,"
murmured Hyacinth.
"I couldn't believe it either, when it happened to me.
Yes, yes." Lina tipped the chair back and
gazed up at the ceiling as if a parade of her
years might be reflected there. Then, tipping down
again, she spoke briskly.
"This is a big outfit, this group, as I've said.
Now they want to expand their market to acquire some
upper- bracket luxuries like a name parfumeur,
top-of the-line costume jewelry, fine
shoes and bags-well, that's the picture. I must
tell you, one of their people saw your evening group in
California, your ruffles and your bright flower
colors. I'm sure that was one of the things that got them
interested. You might keep it in mind, Hyacinth."
"I still don't believe I'm awake and hearing all
this."
"Well, you are awake, and you'd better be awake,
because they'll be sending some of their people to talk over
details either tomorrow or the next day."
"How thrilled your grandmother would be!" Francine
exclaimed, which was a nice tribute from a woman
who had never really liked or been liked by the
grandmother. Then came the amendment: "There is really not
much comparison, of course. She taught you the
mechanics, it's true, but her taste was dreadful.
Those terrible pea greens and maroons! Like decaying
grapes, they looked."
"Better get a top-notch lawyer," Arnie said
when he telephoned, ostensibly to give his report
on Emma and Jerry. "You never know what can happen
with these buyouts and takeovers. You need to protect
yourself, Hy."
She was idly recalling these two reactions when she
walked into Lina's office the next
morning. There was only one man there, facing Lina,
with his back to the door. As Hyacinth opened it, he
rose and faced her. He was "Will Miller.
The first thing she saw was the twinkle. It was all over
his face, on his lips, which were about to open in laughter,
and in his eyes; she had forgotten how green they were.
"Well, well," he said. "Imagine meeting you."
Lina was surprised. "So you know each other?"
"Well, we did. But we had a bit of an
argument the last time, didn't we, Hyacinth?"
She could not have described how she felt. In a
way, her anger still rankled, for had he not been
unnecessarily disdainful that day? But in another
way, should she not feel pleasure in seeing him again?
She had thought of him often enough! And in still another
way, she knew that because it was impossible for her even
to think of becoming seriously involved with anyone, his
appearance now was only another complication. She had
enough complications.
"You see," she said with cool politeness, "that I
took your advice."
"I had no idea, when I gave it, what
marvelous advice it would turn out to be."
This short dialogue was interrupted by the arrival of
more people and was not resumed until noon, when the
meeting ended.
"What about lunch?" Will asked.
"Sorry, but I mostly have a sandwich delivered
here. We're rushing through the resort collection."
"Then we can have a drink and dinner."
"Sorry, but I'm invited to dinner."
"Today's Friday. We'll go to dinner tomorrow night."
"I'm having guests. Some friends of my mother's," she
added quickly, lest it appear that she was unkindly
letting him know he could not be admitted to her party.
"Then we'll go for a walk in the park on Sunday
afternoon. You're not going to get away with it, Hyacinth.
Don't forget, you're about to become an employee
of the corporation."
There went the twinkle again! Defying it, she
retorted, "Don't you tell me that
you
own the corporation."
"Not all of it. Nobody ever owns all of a
corporation. What do you think
corporation
means, anyway? Go look it up in the dictionary."
He amazed her, scoffing as if they had known each
other for umpteen years. Or as if they were-they were
intimate as-well, as Dad and
Francine, who used to talk to each other like that.
"Well, what are you, then?" she asked.
"Okay. The R. T. J.. Miller Company
broke up when my father died, not long after I last
saw you. It wasn't exactly a breakup, but a
buyout, and now I'm one of the vice presidents in
the new company. I'll be living in New York."
Reaching into his pocket, Will brought out and put on a
pair of horn-rimmed glasses. "I've bought a
new pair to use when I need to look older again.
Do you remember when I needed to look younger? With you,
now, perhaps I need to look older again. You'll have more
respect for me since, thanks to me, you've become
so important. Come on, Hy, smile. Here I
am clowning, and you won't even smile at me."
Ah, go away, she thought. Go away, I don't
want you, I don't need you. I do want you, but
I can't have you, it's no good, you don't know anything
about me, it's not fair to you, this makes no sense,
leave me alone.
"Sunday brunch?" he said.
Opals, she thought. His eyes are opals. And then,
seeing that the glasses were only empty frames, a
joke, she laughed and nodded. "All right. Brunch,
since you insist."
"Don't eat any breakfast. I like a woman to have
an appetite."
"You're giving me orders already?"
"Of course. I'm the boss, executive vice
president who's just bought you and paid plenty, too."
"April. It's my favorite month," Will said.
"Do you know why?":
"Because May is still to come, and then the whole summer.":
"That's right!" he cried. "And how do you feel about be
September?";
"I don't like the fall that much. It's supposed
to be . beautiful, all red and gold, and I
suppose it is. But still I
i
feel that everything is dying. I like winter, though. In
fact, I love it. Can you guess why?"
con8That's easy. Because spring's on the way. The snow
'is falling and they're selling daffodils in the
supermarket.
beAm I right? Is it the same with you?"
i
"Yes. Yes, you are, and it is."
conThey were walking slowly through the park. This was
the fourth hour; the brunch had taken two, they had
'talked all through it, and now they were still
talking, as
f
v
random thoughts that would seem to be completely dis
His
connected
were mysteriously connecting.
backslash
"You disappeared. I couldn't find anybody who
knew
Iyou except people in the store, and they had heard
noth[ing.
I looked everywhere. You have never even told the
I
post office where to forward your mail. Why?"
IH-EVERY was looking at her, and the look was so intense
bar that he seemed to see inside her head. He
had made just
that impression upon her at their first meeting.
be8It was the divorce," she said. "I had such bad
feel-
iings. I only wanted to get away, to forget
everything and
ieverybody connected with the place." That much, at
least, was entirely true.
I
"Understandable," he said softly. "Funny thing,
HyaI
:
cinth.
I have a particular reason for wanting to see you.
IT-WO reasons, actually. I wanted to make
another apol bar ogy
for the rather rough way I tried to get my point
bar across that day. And the other reason was that while
I
bar was in Europe, I went to a Dufy
exhibit and for the first
Itime I learned that he had done fashion drawing.
I was
bar amazed, though why I should have been, I don't
know.
@l
His sketches were little gems in themselves, watercolors
and pen and ink, for some famous Paris couturier back
before the First World War. I thought immediately of you, and the
connection between fashion and art."
was So you really know more about art than you pretended."
"I don't pretend. I really don't know much.
I'm a learner."
"So am I."
All of a sudden, she became so intensely aware of
his presence beside her that she had nothing to say. Now their
approach to the museum gave her something.
"Would you like to go in?"
"Some other time. Today I only want to talk to you.
Tell me about yourself."
"There's very little to tell. I work hard, and I like it.
I've been lucky. You gave me good advice."
"I wasn't talking about work. I meant, about you.
Are you feeling alone now that it's over? As bad as
a marriage may have been, people tell me that they often
feel alone in the world after a divorce."
She said quickly, "I'm not alone. I have brothers,
and my mother is only a few hours away. She's
busy, a busy volunteer, and I'm busy, but we
get together."
He was not asking about her relatives, she knew that.
In a roundabout way, he was asking whether she had a
lover. And she knew, too, that if she were to say she
had one he would, except for an occasional meeting
at work, be gone.
She said only, "I have a few friends, but nobody
really close. I haven't had time."
"Nobody really close? I'm glad.
No, that's selfish of me. I didn't mean it quite
like that. Not quite."
They walked on past a pond and through a mist, a
bare hint, of arriving green. Nearing a bridle
path, they stopped to let some riders go through. There were
children among them, a little one riding a pony not much
larger than a toy, and another, an older one,
sitting proudly and earnestly on his high perch.
"Nice," Will observed. "Shall we sit near the path
and watch the horses for a while?"
They found a bench. For a minute or two, they were
silent; she knew that his eyes were turned upon her with a
smile in them. His face is passionate, she thought.
It says everything and hides nothing. And this awareness
was suddenly so troubling, contrasted to the secret that she
carried, that her heart sank, even as she was compelled
to speak.
"I have two children," she said, very low; her voice
sounded in her ears as though it was the voice of a
stranger.
"You do? But why-was He was astonished.
"Why have I made a secret of them? I don't
know. I guess because I don't want to think about how
hard it is .. dis.the divorce . .. children don't
understand."
"How old are they?"
"Almost eleven and almost eight. Jerry's the big
brother, and Emma is seven. It happened just over
three years ago." And she remembered that night after
Christmas dinner and how, up ur their rooms, they
had wept together. "It was awful for them," she said.
"And awful for you. How are they now?"
"Better, as far as I can see. Still, you never know
what's being suppressed, do you?"
"That's true. But having a strong mother like you, who's
pulling herself up by what my grandfather used to call her
own bootstraps, should be a big help."
"I don't know about the bootstraps, but I hope
you're right." Hyacinth's voice began to shake,
yet she continued, "That boy on horseback
reminded me of Jerry. He's crazy about
horses, and I'm glad. It helps, it's healthy
to have an interest of some kind. It means there's one part
of your life that's really happy."
"Do they see their father?"
"Oh yes, they're with him now. It's spring
vacation. They spend vacations with him."
Even as she spoke, she was thinking: Why am I
lying? I've never been a liar. But you do know very
well why. It's the old story: It's because
a mother who gives up custody is a marked woman,
she is
unnatural,
there is something terribly wrong with her. Isn't that
what people say?
Needing now to do something
natural,
she opened her handbag and, having subdued the quiver
in her voice, showed him a snapshot of her children.
Let him write her off as a conventional bore and
never see her again.
"Forgive me for boring you," she said. "Here they
are."
They were in riding clothes, standing in front of a
paddock fence on the day that Emma had her first
authentic lesson. Arnie had taken the picture,
Will was either interested or being polite enough to
seem so. She had a definite impression that the
former was the case.
"You're not boring me at all. They're beautiful,
both of them."
"Thank you. Emma looks a lot like my mother, whose
photo you saw at my house."
"I remember. I told you she was beautiful but that
I thought you were more so."
If anyone were to have asked Hyacinth exactly what
she was feeling at that moment, she would not have had an
answer. "Confusion" might be the closest to the truth.
Again she had nothing to say, and neither, apparently, had
W. She wondered afterward whether either of them would have
spoken at all at that moment if the wind, which had
been rising, had not abruptly exploded into a chill
gust and a fierce burst of rain.
"We ought to get back before it pours more," she said.
"Of course."
As if to prolong the good-bye at the entrance of the
apartment house, he paused and mused, "What a
haphazard world it is. I caught a glimpse of you
in the store that day and thought, "I like her looks, the
long hair like a silk curtain, the way she
strides off like a country girl walking on the
road." Then I forgot you because one always sees
interesting people whom one never sees again. But then I
did see you again, crossing the square."
She knew he was waiting to be invited upstairs.
And again she lied, again she told herself that it was easier
that way. It was better so.
"My mother's here with her friends, or else-was
"Another time," he said, and looked at her as if,
like her, he had been struck into dumb
silence by the shock of knowing what was happening to them.
Riding up in the elevator, she repeated the tale
he had begun. The package fell. He picked
up the book. He quoted Stephen Spender... .
Suppose he were to ask her to marry him? It's
plausible to think that he might, but it must not happen.
Already it's gone too far. I am carrying dangerous
baggage, she thought, locked baggage that, like
Pandora's box, must never be opened.
He wanted to see her, while she needed to keep him
away. Therefore it became a question of being friendly in a
cool way and of finding excuses both true and
untrue, though mostly untrue. And so, whenever they
met, she delivered the kind of message that every
human being, especially the female human being,
knows how to deliver: You are pleasant company and I
like you, but only up to a point and no farther, in
spite of anything that may seem to have passed between us that
day in the park.
Almost always, Hyacinth was certain, the recipient of
such a message becomes discouraged and is heard from
no more. But Will Miller did not seem to be getting
that message. It surprised her that so attractive
a man was satisfied to accept a stroll through
Chinatown or an evening at the movies,
followed by a friendly goodnight on the doorstep, only
to call a few days later. Surely, if he
wanted to, in no time at all he could fill his
address book with any number of young women.
What are we going to do, she asked herself, when we
have explored the whole city? Foolish question, she
replied. The city's pleasures are endless. Then
she was troubled; if only he would move, be
transferred to some place far away! But no, he was
firmly planted here; had he not even shown her with
pride the enormous, muddy excavation from which the
company's great new building was to arise? Had he not
spoken of his ambition to live in an apartment with a
view?
As if he were content to keep their companionship just as
it was, he persisted. It was as if he had never said
any of those intimate things about his search for her, or
about poetry, or about a curtain of silk hair.
Most probably, she concluded, he had an
extensive collection of women, and she was merely
one of them. Yet she did not entirely believe so.
In the middle of May, when Arnie came from
Florida, she was truly glad to see him.
Conversation with him was easy. There were no long silences
to be filled with neutral, noncommittal
subjects. Their central subject was,
naturally, Emma and Jerry. Arnie always had
plenty to Say about himself, his new racehorse
Diamond, and his business deals that apparently
took him from Portland, Oregon, to Portland,
Maine. In addition to these, he would have questions about her.
It touched her that he was so proud and so encouraging about
her success. So it was a blessing to relax with him, the
one human being who knew her secret.
Still, even with Arnie there were complications. He
didn't try very hard to hide what he wanted.
"I suppose you meet a lot of men now that you're
out in the world, right?"
"Not many. I'm at Libretti's all day, and
it's a long
day."
"But there are other designers there."
"A lot of them don't like women, Arnie."
Then, as if teasing but not really teasing, he would
smile and tell her that he was still "available."
"Better grab me before somebody else does,
Hy. Take
a look at me. Not bad, hey?"
The lively face arrd the strong, athletic body
were not
bad at all. Yet something was missing. And a small
pain
darted across her forehead.
On the first of July, Lina made a decision: It
was time for Hyacinth to see the fabric houses of
France. This would be a start, and the next visit
abroad would be to Milan. In time she would need
to see handwoven tweeds in Scotland and
embroideries in India.
"Oh, glamour!" exclaimed Francine when
Hyacinth reported all this. "French flowers,
music, food, and of course the fashions-oh,
lucky you." She was in raptures. Then suddenly
subdued, she added, "I'm so happy for you, darling.
You deserve it."
She meant, of course, after all the trouble you won't
tell me about.
Arnie, as ever, was enthusiastic. "Great. If I
didn't have appointments 3 month ahead in this
office, damned if I wouldn't pick up and go
along. Listen, have a ball. The kids are fine and
you can have a nice visit when you get back, so go and
have fun, Hy. But not too much fun, if you get my
meaning."
Ten days later Hyacinth settled into a
window seat. As she looked out at the activities
on the tarmac, her thoughts turned to the last time she
had gone overseas. The four years might have been
four centuries in another life, or they might have
been four days ago, so vivid was her
recollection.
From the first-class section, one had a view of every
face as its owner slowly passed. And as always, with
her innate curiosity, she wondered how much a
face ever truly revealed. So she observed the
passing file, thinking about each one, and then about herself,
until gradually, after many minutes had passed and the
plane was almost ready to take off, she had reached a
conclusion: I am stronger now than I was on my
last flight to Paris. I am more able to endure because
I've had to. It was, and is still, a case of
endure or founder.
Without intending to, she sat up straight and tall.
The seat was comfortable. On the tray lay a book, a
Miche- lin guide, and a cold drink. Below the dark
blue cuff of her perfect suit, one of Lina's
best, there shone the polished circle of Francine's
gold gift. At her feet lay the perfect
lizard handbag that matched the perfect shoes. And she
smiled, recalling Lina's injunction:
"You are a walking advertisement now, and you must never
forget it," A sense of well-being, long
unfamiliar, crept over her.
The seat beside her was still vacant. And she was thinking that,
with luck, she might even have the benefit of its added
space, when a voice cried, "Well, imagine
this!"
She looked up to see Will Miller preparing to take
the vacant seat.
"I had no idea," he said. "Did you?"
His amazement was so ineptly acted that the very
absurdity of it increased her anger and dismay.
She replied sharply, "No, not at all. Nor
did Lina either, I'm sure."
"Well, there's nothing much you can do about it now.
They've pulled back the jetway, so you'll
simply have to put up with me."
She saw at once that another change had come over
him. The impersonal, courteous manner of the past
few weeks was gone. It had only been a studied
reaction to her own coolness toward him. She had known
that all along, without wanting to know it. In its place
there now appeared the man she had first known, determined
and plainspoken.
She had needed to be alone. ...
"You've been avoiding me," he said.
Not wanting to argue, she tried to placate. "No,
no, I haven't. We had a nice afternoon at the
Morgan Library, didn't we? At least I
thought it was."
"When was that? Three weeks ago? Don't give
me a foolish excuse, Hyacinth. All the rest
of the time you've been busy. Always busy, you tell
me, and I know very well you aren't."
"What do you mean?" Indignantly she drew away
toward the window. "Who says I'm not busy?"
"Common sense says so. Lina doesn't work you
to death. She told me."
"She knows nothing about what I do after hours."
"She knows more than you think."
"Was this her idea? Yes, it must have been. Since
you
had left-oh, unexpectedly, of course-for San
Francisco! What does she think she's doing?
She has no right to interfere in my life."
"I don't want to quarrel about Lina, In fact,
I don't want to quarrel at all. Turn around
and look at the Statue of Liberty. Have you been
up at the top lately?"
"No."
"Neither have I, not since I was ten years old.
We'll go as soon as we get back from this trip."
"What do you mean by "we"?"
"What I said. Listen, Hyacinth, You've been
putting on an act. Hard to get. Don't deny
it, because I see it. It's very feminine and
old-fashioned and sweet, and all right for a starter, but
we've gotten beyond it. We got beyond it on the day
we saw that boy on horseback in the park and you
showed me the snapshots of Emma and Jerry."
"You don't know what you're talking about," she said,
very low.
"Oh, but I do, and you know I do. You're saying one
thing now, but your eyes are contradicting what you say.
They're doing it right this minute."
Her eyes, to her exasperation, had filmed with tears,
and it was simply because he had remembered the names of
Jerry and Emma. Stalwart, are you, Hyacinth?
And she turned to the window, where far below the city was
falling away. On the screen before them, the map showed
their route, northeast toward Boston, Halifax,
Greenland-all those miles and hours locked into this
seat.
"I won't bother you," Will said abruptly. "Read
your book. I have one, too,"
She had been looking forward to the book, a new
novel by a good writer; it had the fresh feel of
untouched books, the glossy jacket
immaculate, and all those tantalizing pages
inside, enough of them to last until lights out and for two
more nights alone in a beautiful room at the
hotel. And now it was all ruined.
Her eyes read the opening sentence, but her mind made
no sense of the words and they had to read it again. Her
mind had gone flat and stupid, repeating the overhead
sign:
Fasten Seat Belts.
She read it in French and again in English, until it
turned into a senseless refrain:
Fasten Seat Belts.
At that point, becoming alarmed, she tried to control
her mind. Listen here, she commanded it. Listen here,
Hyacinth. You're doing all right, or you were until
he came. Now let's go all over it again: You're
not hanging on to anybody's coattails or crying
on anybody's shoulder. You're supporting yourself and
doing it very well. You don't owe a cent to anybody
now that you've made Arnie accept your repayment.
It's true that you have your lonely hours when you're not
working-God, how lonely-but you get through them.
Her mind faltered: Oh, if you could find a man for
an uncomplicated relationship, he would be very, very
welcome. He must be nice, like Arnie, only a
great deal more-or perhaps only a little more-to your taste.
But that sounds awful. "Your taste," as if you were some
superior arbiter selecting a man as one selects
a melon or a chair. Will is definitely not the
person for any uncomplicated relationship. And part
of it all is your fault, you know it is. There were
several times, and you remember
them well, when you could have said something that would have ended it.
But you didn't say it. You didn't want to say
it. So you encouraged him, and now here you are. You
really don't want to get involved again, do you? So
for God's sake, pull yourself together, get rid of
him firmly when we land, and go about your business.
The flight attendant came with the dinner menus. Will
read his, she read hers, and each gave his order
without any consultation between them. It seemed to Hyacinth
that the attendant was looking at them with some
curiosity, as if she were deciding whether they were
strangers or a couple. Not that it mattered what she
decided.
Why am I like this? she asked herself with a touch of the
original adolescent consciousness of
self. Why do I care what anybody thinks? You
are you, and if people don't like you, there's nothing else you
can do.
They had both ordered the same hors d'oeuvre
plate. Silently they ate and drank the aperitif
that had come with it. After a few minutes, the silence
began to seem unnatural. Even a pair of
total strangers locked together a few inches apart
for a long night would exchange a few cordial
remarks.
"Delicious," she said, catching Will's glance. "You
don't expect such food on a plane, do you?"
"On a French plane, you do."
"Yes, they do know food, don't they?"
Now wasn't that a banal remark? Perhaps it would after
all have been better not to start any conversation.
"If I remember, this isn't your first time over
there."
"No, it's my first time on business, though."
I
"Ah yes, fabrics. It should be very interesting.
Challenging."
"I'm looking forward to it."
Silence fell. Then, since heads normally move
and eyes wander, their eyes met. Opals,
thought Hyacinth, startled again by their extraordinary
lucent color.
"Listen," Will said. "This is ridiculous. First you
play the game, then I play the game. Men can
play it, too, you know. But you began it, always having
something to do every time I asked. Your mother was in the city with
your great-aunt's second cousin's mother-in-law.
were you playing a game with me, or did you by any
chance mean it? If you really mean it, please
simply say so. Say: "Will Miller, I
don't want to see you again. Leave me alone.
Get out of my life." Say it, and I'll do
it."
She looked toward the window. It was quite dark, and they
were so high that no light of earth was visible. All
everywhere was black. Where was the resolution that only a
short while before had stiffened the spine of this brave
little lady who was making a name for herself, owed nobody,
and bore her tragedy in silence? A lump almost
large enough to choke her rose to Hyacinth's " throat
and stuck there.
Will Miller waited. Time passed, perhaps only a
minute or two that might just as well have been an
hour or two before he spoke again, saying softly,
"I think you've given me your answer,
Hyacinth."
Still, she could not bring herself to speak, but putting , a
hand on his arm, let it rest there. He did not move
until at last she spoke.
"I don't want to say 'get out of my life."
his
"What do you want to say?"
A felony-murder, second degree.
"I don't know."
"I believe you do," he said quietly now. "I
believe you're wary
of
a new relationship, and I can understand that because the old
one was so painful. Am I right, Hyacinth?"
"Painful." The word came out with a gasp. "Oh,
yes. Painful."
"I won't hurry you. But do we understand each other
this time? Are we on a straight road now?"
There was such conflict within her that she was physically
racked with it. Deep shame filled her because con-
conealment was a masquerade and a lie. And rage
filled her that she, who had never meant harm
to anybody on conarth, should be so afflicted. This man
here, so sensitive, perceptive, intelligent,
proud, and kind, was no object of in
unlearned young girl's infatuation; he was the man for
her belated womanhood, and she knew it.
So perhaps after all it would not be a wrong? It need
aot hurt him. How would he ever know, unless of
course something-something should be discovered? But how was she,
or how could anyone, let that possibility, or
probability, control the rest of her life? If
they could be jappy together for however short or long a
time, and Jien the feared disaster were to come upon her, it would
aot harm him too much. So then, really, was she
committing so terrible a sin in saying yes? Was she?
"Straight road?" he repeated.
She nodded her assent, and he took her hand.
They slept in spurts as people do on a night
flight.
Waking from time to time, they felt the warmth of each
other's shoulders. The touch was as intimate as if they
had many times before shared the same bed. As the plane
rushed eastward, they awoke again at the same time
to see the sunrise ahead.
"Look!" cried Hyacinth. "It seems to be coming
up out of the sea. Every day, faithful every day. It's a
miracle."
"Yes, a miracle. Like love."
Lina, having one day asked Hyacinth
casually where she had stayed before in Paris, had
thoughtfully selected a different hotel,
"Now you're not annoyed with her anymore, are you?"
Will asked, adding somewhat mischievously, "You thought
you fooled her, but you didn't. She's a pretty
smart old lady."
"You got her to plan all this, didn't you?
Adjoining rooms and everything?"
"I can't say I didn't have a part in it. The
adjoining rooms, though, were done for the sake of
appearances. It looks more dignified that way,
don't you think? More respectable."
The rooms were decorated with fruitwood and toile,
his blue and hers pink, which made them laugh.
Suddenly they were filled with laughter. You might
expect to fall onto a bed for at least a short
nap after a long and fairly uncomfortable night, but
to the contrary, energized as if with oxygen, they ate an
enormous breakfast and started out into a cool, sunny
day. Turning toward the Tuileries, they walked hand
in hand past the pond
and on up toward an ice cream parlor where, at
half past ten in the morning, they bought double cones.
Seeing themselves reflected absurdly in a shop
window, two adults burdened with two
cameras, one map, one guidebook, one extra
sweater, and ice cream conesj they had to laugh at
themselves again.
"I'm walking on air," Will said.
Yes, she thought, that's how it is. I could walk
around the world, just start out now and keep on going. If
I had wings, I couldn't feel any lighter. I'd
go anyplace with him, anywhere at all. Just not
to think, not to care.
"What shall we do with this day?" he asked.
"Let's just wander."
"No museums?"
"Not today."
"I'm glad you said that. This is the day we begin. It
will be our anniversary. Let's simply feel it."
So they wandered. They crossed a bridge and stopped
for minutes simply to watch the boats. They passed
the bookstalls, stopping to examine some books and
buying two.
"It keeps you from forgetting the language," Will'
said.
They went into a church. It seemed as if their feet
always paused at the same places, first at the
entrance and then at a pew where, without speaking, they
both sat down. For half an hour they
listened to an organ fugue resounding through the lofty
silence, and then, still without speaking, they rose at the
same time and went out.
The music followed them into the street. "Was it
Bach?" asked Hyacinth.
"No. Cesar Franck."
Through the streets, the alleys, and the unexpected
shady spaces of the old city, they walked on. The
morning's laughter died away, and in its place a
lovely peace wrapped itself around them.
When they stopped before a gallery window, it seemed as
if by unspoken consensus they needed the same amount of
time to look and were ready together to go on their way. At
a cafe table under an umbrella on the sidewalk,
they stopped for coffee and, drinking slowly, still not
saying much of anything, observed the scene: a
fruiterer's magnificent display, a woman with
three poodles on a leash, and a passing car
bedecked with bridal flowers. They were both carried
beyond words. After a while, Will touched her arm and
asked, "Shall we go back? Have we waited long
enough?"
If he could hear her heart beat! If a heart could
speak!
"I don't want to hurry you," he said.
She looked at him and smiled. "But I want you
to hurry me."
Sliding between the louvered shutters, the afternoon light
striped the carpet. Quietly Hyacinth stood in the
center of the room and let him take off her clothes.
His hands were firm and persistent; yet they were soft upon
her. Neither of them spoke. He kissed her, and still
she did not move, letting the sweetness stream over
and through her. It was as if she had never been desired
and cherished; always the wanting had been hers. Hers
only. And she had never truly known adoration
until now,
standing here in this room. Her ignorance had not been
bliss. This was bliss.
After the first few days, when both had taken care of
their business affairs, their time was free.
"We don't have to rush home. I'll change the
tickets and we'll take a few extra days.
It's our honeymoon."
He had already made a list of things to see: a
monastery, the menhirs in Brittany,
MontSaintMichel, and the Normandy beaches.
"Anything to add? Any changes you want to make?"
She had none except for one inn where she had stayed
with Gerald on a rainy night of
exasperation for him and worry for her.
"All that's past," he said when she told him, "and
you are going to forget it."
"I have already."
Leaving the city, they turned the car toward the north,
taking turns at the wheel. Often when the road was
clear and Will drove, he held her hand. It seemed
then to Hyacinth that strength was passing from one hand to the
other, building a union between them. It was a marvel
that they were so alike. When music came through the air,
they both listened without interruption until the end.
After so short a time together, they were able to foretell each
other's quirks and habits; he liked his hot
drinks hot, while she liked them warm; each of them
wanted to read the newspaper undisturbed at
breakfast; he had to sleep on his right side.
Their nights were splendid. At an inn where their
room had a balcony, they lay one evening in a
hammock, rocking under the trees until the stars
came out. At Mont-Saint-Michel they opened the
window to hear the enormous, terrifying tide come
thundering in. Their days were splendid. In Brittany
they took pictures of women wearing lace caps,
they ate the famous pancakes, and they wondered at
the menhirs, those ancient, secretive
stones standing in rows on flat fields. Will wondered
about their age and how they compared with Stone- henge.
Everything interested him, whether swans on a pond,
a small town's art exhibit, or a group of
old men playing boules.
On Omaha Beach, he was extremely moved.
"My grandfather died here on June sixth in
1944," he said. "This is my second visit."
From the top of the incredible cliff, they stared down at
the sand and the waves, then back at the Nazi gun
emplacements, and walked away in silence. At the
.3 American cemetery nearby, they looked at
the white crosses stretching almost to the horizon and
found nothing to say, for Will's expression said everything.
And Hyacinth, with a passionate gesture, put her
arms out to hold him.
Now and again they had these emotional moments, but
chiefly their mood was one of joyous calm. Their
intimacies were unself-conscious. As though they had
lived years together, they had their small routines:
He brushed her hair, and she rubbed his back. Now
and again they asked each other in mild astonishment how
all this could have happened to them.
On the last night, in the formal setting of what had
been somebody's small chateau, they
dressed for dinner. Hyacinth's dress had short,
black lace sleeves.
"I hadn't planned to bring anything like this," she said.
"I thought I'd be having dinner in my room, wearing
a bathrobe. But Lina insisted."
"Of course she did. I told you, she's a smart
old lady. She had faith in me."
"But me? She could only have been guessing about me.
I never said a word to "her about you."
Will smiled. He was about to leave the room, with his hand
on the doorknob, when he stopped to look at her.
"Wait a second. Just like that. Do me one favor,
will you? Never cut your hair any shorter. Never."
"I wasn't planning to, but why?" "Because. I
love the feel of it on the pillow." Very happily
she responded, "Agreed. That's reason enough."
Yet now, on the next to the last day, since in the
morning they were to return to Paris, a thin edge formed
itself upon this happiness. She had allowed herself, or rather
forced herself, to forget during this enchanted week that it was
deeply flawed. So it was almost uncanny that Will should
choose just this moment of foreboding to say what he did.
V They were at table when he remarked, "You almost
never talk about your children."
[com
"Don't I? I didn't realize it. I
suppose I don't want to @l..- be boring,
don't want to be one of those women who I talk
incessantly about how bright they are, and what the I--
, teacher said, and what the coach at Little League had
@l to say."
"I'm not easily bored. And your children could never
bore me. Will you see them before school begins in
September?"
"I go down there to visit, and my mother does.
Sometimes we go together."
"Do they mind this joint custody arrangement? I
suppose it's fair to the parents, but isn't it
confusing to the children?"
"Well, mine seem to be fine. I think only time
will tell whether they grow up with any scars."
Hyacinth's heart had begun to race. And some
change must have appeared on her face, because Will, always
keen to observe, said quickly, "I'm sorry. I
didn't mean to bring up a painful thing that you can't
change. Let's just enjoy what we have right now.
Let's drink to us." And lifting his glass, he
touched hers. "To us. To you and to me, always."
Above the rim of her glass, she beheld him. So
tender, so stubborn, wise, and good! And again
came that terrible sense of foreboding.
"What is it?" he asked. "What are you thinking?"
"Only that this is our next to last day."
"What of it? We have the rest of our lives." With a
quizzical smile, he waited. "No comment?"
"It's the champagne. It always goes straight to my
head." She reached over to touch him. "I love you,
W."
"You'd better love me. Come on, let's eat so
we can go to bed early."
Needing to meet his cheerful tone, she bantered back,
"You always want to be in bed early."
"Can you think of a better place?" he retorted.
Hyacinth's mind, unknown to Will, was already home long
before they reached the hotel in Paris. It was therefore
almost fitting that a fax from home should be awaiting her
there. When the knock on the door came and it was handed
in, Will took it, asking quickly, "Shall I read it for
you?"
"Oh, please."
"It's fine, dear. It's nothing, no trouble.
'Birthday greetings. Better late than never.
All's well with everybody. Kids and I send
love. How about dinner, usual place. Arnie."

"That's all? Thank God."
"You didn't tell me it was your birthday. When was
it?"
"I have to count. It must have been-yes, last
Tuesday. I'd never notice it anymore if it
weren't for my family."
"What, no celebration? Well, we're going
to celebrate every birthday from now on. Mine's the
fourteenth of January, and I want a proper
cake. I want the works. Who's Arnie?"
"He's my former husband's partner, but a very good friend
of mine."
"He must be. "Dinner? Usual place?"' his
"He comes to New York every month or so on
business, and I often go to dinner at his hotel.
He's very kind, good to Emma and Jerry, and Fm
fond of him."
"Oh. That's nice. How about a walk to stretch our
legs before the flight tomorrow?"
She was grateful that
home,
rather than being a
spoiler, had waited until now, at the end of the
week, to reach out to her. On their walk, they passed
the shop in which she had seen the famous rose
dress that had been the cause of so much change. It
was unmistakably the place, and she could not resist
telling W.
"If it hadn't been for that dress, I wouldn't be
here with you. I would never have met you."
Never. The walls, the pavement, the very sky now
fading into a melancholy gray, repeated the word.
Never,
"And you wouldn't be a designer. Funny, somebody
said to me that you don't look like one, however a
designer is supposed to look. He meant it
well, though, and I understood because I can just as
easily see you pushing a baby carriage on a
suburban street."
"Fve done that," she said.
"Well, you can do it again. We could make a
wonderful child. Smart, beautiful, athletic,
artistic, good-natured, head of the class-was
"You forgot boastful," she finished, pretending
to laugh.
"Touche," said W. "But seriously, be prepared,
because we're going to have to talk."
"Not now, for heaven's sake.

"No. But soon. I suppose I am a
little hasty, although that's not unusual. We know each
other as well as we ever could, and time's a-wasting,"
The summer at home was long and hot. They said it was
the worst heat wave in fifteen years, but
Hyacinth, protected by air conditioning, was too
busy to think about it, and far too concerned with her
problems, anyway.
Libretti was preparing the spring line, with special
attention to its Hyacinth productions, and the place was
astir with buying and selling, viewing, fitting, and
photographing. Hyacinth herself was to depart on a
two- week tour with her trunk show to end with a splash
of publicity on Fifth Avenue.
"This is your best work yet," Lina told her.
"It's a new look for you. It's discreet and
ladylike and very sensuous besides. Love must agree
with you. Maybe I'm being too personal," she
added, as Hyacinth did not respond.
"No, that's all right, Lina."
"You haven't said anything to me, although Will Miller
has."
"I guess I've been so swamped in the fitting
rooms that I haven't had a moment," she replied,
which was at best a lame response and at worst a
dodge.
She was making a stupendous effort not to think ahead.
This time Will had really gone to California, where a
long-drawn-out negotiation over some kind of merger was
being held, and she was missing him to the point of pain.
That very morning, another letter from him had arrived, and
twice within the last few hours, she had taken it out
of her purse to read it.
My love,
Do you know you are everything to me? Wherever I am,
alone or in a crowd, there is a part of my mind that
is always aware of you. As clearly as if you were
speaking to me, I hear your lovely voice. In the
darkness, I see your brave eyes, and that one-sided
curve of your lips when you laugh. We've had so
little time together, only a few months, and yet I know
you as if I had known you all my life. You have my
total trust, and I hope, I know, I have yours.
It's my last thought before I sleep, and the first when I
awake.
Will
Total trust. And guilt, a thrust into the heart,
a throb in the forehead, and a startle in the middle of the
night.
What am I going to do? she asked for the hundredth or
the thousandth time.
Then there was more. Although Arnie assured her by phone that
Emma and Jerry were "happy as clams," she
I
was not satisfied. Several times she had heard them in
the background having a nasty, tearful quarrel; a
few times they had also been sulky and snappy in their
replies to her, so that she had afterward cried with
frustration.
Meanwhile, her work had to go forward, and it did.
"I'm still in shock," Francine whispered while the
big Fifth Avenue show was being set up. "Who could
have guessed that you, in your jeans and T-shirt, you who
never gave a darn about fashion, knew so much about
stuff like this?"
"I always tell you, it's like painting."
Still, it did amaze her when a customer consulted her
as to what shoes to wear with this or that suit, or whether
that dress was strictly "after five" or might be
worn at a noon wedding. It amazed her to watch the
models make their smart pirouettes in garments that,
not all that long ago, had been mere sketches on the
backs of envelopes. There they came, parading in
chalk white velvet with scarlet shoes, in yellow
Turkish trousers with a beaded jacket, and in short
black taffeta with a long, sky-blue
petticoat and a naked back. There they came, and
kept coming.
Lina was all smiles. "Do you realize who's
here?" she kept murmuring into Hyacinth's ear.
"Over there in the back row, he's from Texas. You
mustn't skip their store next time.... You don't
know her? For goodnes sake, she practically
runs the patrons list.... Oh, he always comes with
his wife and buys half a dozen gowns for the
season.... You don't recognize her8ggShe'Have
be on die cover of next month's issue.. ..
The short one on the
left is one of the top European shoe designers.
. . . This is one tremendous success, my dear
Hyacinth."
At the end there was a babble and a jostle, with Hyacinth
in the very center, everyone calling her name. She had a
most surprising thought: For the first time in my life,
actually, I don't mind the name. It's really not as
silly as I've always thought it was. I should tell
Francine,
"Hyacinth, remember me?"
Remember Moira? They spoke every week or two
on the telephone, but there was still nothing like a hug and the
sight of a kind, sweet face. There was no
ease like that which you felt with a real friend who never put you
on the spot with a tactless question or any reference to your
troubles.
"Oh, you look marvelous, Hyacinth! I'm so
glad for you. One of these days I'm going to give
myself some time off and take a weekend in New
York. Maybe I'll treat myself to one of your
dresses. Do you make any stylish stouts?"
Moira had a wonderful ability to laugh at herself.
"Hyacinth, remember me?
w
Remember Martha? She could hardly have forgotten this
nemesis of her girlhood.
"Of course I do. What brings you here?"
"Your mother told me about it. We're still neighbors,
you know, and we pass each other on the road now and
then. You look marvelous, Hyacinth."
She was supposed to return the compliment, but somehow
she did not feel like doing any more than answering
graciously, "Thank you. Thank you very much."
"I've thought of you often since you moved away, about
how we all used to be sort of mean to you in school.
And in college, too, I have to admit. You must
remember, although I hope you don't."
Well now, wasn't that an apology? And
wasn't this an awkward time to make it? How should she
reply? She could say coolly something like:
Naturally I remember, though it was never all that
important to me.
But since, in a subtle way, Martha had a beaten
look, she said instead, "It was a long time ago.
What's been happening with you?"
"Not much. I never married, so I live at home.
I work in town."
Martha was still standing there and would have extended the conversation
if Una had not come rushing up with a message.
"It's about the velvet dress. They're asking
whether you'll do the same in black."
"I'm taking your time," said Martha. "I'd love
to buy one of your dresses. They're beautiful, but
I can't afford them."
For an instant, Hyacinth watched her walk away.
What had happened to the teasing eyes, the proud,
curly head, and the toss of it? Martha acted as if
she were Stunned to see what has happened to me,
while I feel the same about her. What a mystery
it is, all of it!
I said, "You did this whole dinner, fancy chicken,
ncy vegetable souffle, and fancy dessert? No
takeout,
r
that you're in New York?" "Why are you so
surprised? You know I can cook.
You said the same thing that day when you came to lunch and
broke my heart right afterward."
"I don't know. I just am."
People had always been surprised, first that such a
bookworm should spend so much time in the kitchen, and now
that a designer and a moneymaker should do it. People clung
to their stereotypes.
Her feelings for the last twenty-four hours had been
dreadfully mixed. She had been disturbed because just at
the time she was filling some last-minute, ultra-
important orders, Emma and Jerry had come
unexpectedly on a short vacation, so now they had
gone to spend a part of their time in the country with
Francine instead ofwith her, their mother. Their father had
simply found it convenient to send them someplace without
even asking whether it was possible for her to take them.
But last night Will had called to say that he was coming
home on the "red-eye," and she had been
gloriously excited. At work in the perfect little
kitchen, she had had fantasies of a house and a dining
room with all her beloved faces around the table, his
at the head. Then, as the clock moved
toward the hour when he would walk in, she had been
shaken by panic, really physically shaken. This time,
surely, he was going to pin her down to specifics.
Something told her that this was to be the night for really
serious talk. It had been postponed until the
hectic showings were over, and until his return from
California, but now it was here.
Under the concealing napkin, her hands were actually
knotted together, the gold ring digging into her palm.
"That last showing was a triumph, I hear. I
wanted to get back for it, but there was a lot of
last-minute delay, too much red tape." He
broke off. "I missed you terribly, so terribly
that it hurt."
"I know," she said weakly, with her eyes on the
corner chair: navy blue with scattered
snowflakes in two clusters, skip a space, and
there were two more clusters.
"I want marriage, Hyacinth. I want you
to say when."
Foolish words escaped her. "Don't we need
to know each other a little better, Mr. Miller?"
He stared at her. "Don't be absurd. Don't
be coy, for God's sake. Don't tease me."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"Well, then?"
"You know I love you, W. But we have to-to
plan. My children-this apartment-it's not all that simple.
I can't rush." With every intention to sound natural, she
heard her voice pleading. "We've been so happy
this summer, so can't we go on for a while until-was
"No. I don't understand what you mean by "not all
that simple." There's room enough for the children and me in here
until we can find a larger place. I'll find
one. Give me a couple of weeks, that's all.
You wanted to be fairly near their school, I know,
and I'll keep that in mind. Where do they go now?"
" She sighed. "I may be changing their school, and
k
that's another complication."
"These complications are of your own making, Hya@lc
less-than cinth.
I think I know what it is. You're having a vision
of
the first time, all the wedding fears that turned out so
badly in the end, and the thought of another wedding
depresses you. It's affected your nerves.
Isn't that so?"
For a full minute, Will sat still. Aware of his eyes
upon her, she cast hers down and fiddled with a
water glass.
"I know you love me, Hyacinth. Then trust me.
Just close your eyes and jump. We'll make a
small, quick affair of it. City Hall, if you
want. Ten minutes and over. Painless. Nothing
to it."
"Then what's the difference? We can go into that room right
now, and it will still be wonderful without any-was
"No."
By now she was well enough accustomed to that decisive
no
to see without looking at him exactly how his mouth had
closed upon his even teeth, upon the word and upon the
subject.
"I want to marry you, not only live with you. I'm
not as modern as I've liked to think I was.
I've had enough temporary stuff. I'm ready for
something public and permanent, ready for a child of my
own. I'm
ready
for your children, too. You need have no worries about that.
That bothers you a bit, doesn't it? But I want
to love them because they are yours. When am I going
to see them?"
"Soon."
"You should be getting them back after Labor Day, I
suppose."
"They're with my mother. I'm going up there tomorrow to spend
a few. days."
"Then I'll wait till you come back to go over
all our details."
He stood up and, pulling her to himself, held her
close
to kiss her hands, her arms, her throat, and her
mouth.
If only we were alone on that beach in Brittany,
she
thought while he held her, with the tide racing and the
mind racing and nothing to think about, nothing.. ..
"I'll take care of everything, Hyacinth. Leave
it to me. Now undo these buttons of yours. I can't
seem to manage-was
The buzzer sounded. "Dammit!" he cried.
"Who's that?" "I can't imagine," she said, and then
heard from the lobby that it was Arnie, already on the way
up. A moment later there came a knock on the
door.
"Open up, celebrity, it's me, Arnie.
Remember me? Don't look scared," he said as
he stepped in. "Everything's fine. I'm
here on a quick two-day trip to see a guy in this
neighborhood, so I thought I'd take a chance on
finding you in."
He had never done anything like this. Andwiththe -- merest
touch of coolness, she said, "You scared me. I be
wasn't expecting anybody. Will Miller, Dr.
Arnold Ritter." The two men made the usual
acknowledgments, and
i-
andere remained nothing to do but sit down and say
'something.
Hyacinth began. "We've just had dinner. Can I
get I you anything? A piece of pie?"
"Thanks, no. Just ate with this guy. But you had a
I dinner, I know that," Arnie said, addressing Will,
i lady can feed a man. Many's the good meal
I've i at her table."
Will said something, but Hyacinth was in such turmoil that
she barely heard what it was. Every nerve in her
body was electrified, ready to spark. What to do
if Arnie should say the wrong thing about the status of
Jerry and Emma? When the time came to tell Will,
she, not Arnie, must be the one to do it. She ought to have
told him before this. But she had been dreading it so,
dreading the questions that would follow.
"I thought at least I could cool off coming up
north," Arnie said. "But it's as hot as
Florida."
"I've just come in from California. They seem to have
escaped the heat there this summer. Weather's always a
gamble, you never know."
Weather, thought Hyacinth, is always a safe
subject when the air is filled with tension. And she
said inanely, "Come January, with ice in the
streets, we'll remember this and wish it back."
The men agreed. And Hyacinth was saying silently,
Arnie, why don't you just get up and go,
when suddenly he drew an envelope out of his
pocket and handed it to her.
"Have a look at these," he said with a broad smile.
"I took them last week at the gymkhana.
Emma's taken to horses like a duck to water."
There they were, side by

side in their fine habits on their fine mounts,
looking like children in some glossy magazine. Her
babies.
"Matter of fact, I think Emma's going to outdo
her a brother. Wait till you see," he added,
sounding like a proud father.
There was. nothing to do but hand the photos to W. his
He took rather a long time over them and then, returning
them, remarked that he also had some pictures in his
pocket.
"I meant to give them to you before this, but I took them
to California by mistake."
And there
they
were, Will and Hyacinth, in Paris with the obelisk in
the background, in Deauville, in Brittany, in
front of the Louvre, in a garden, and in front of a
pond with swans in the background. Wearing her
usual jeans and top, she stood with her hair blown
like a ribbon in the wind. In the dress with the lace
sleeves, she was elegant. And finally she was on the
beach wearing the bikini that Will had bought because she had not
packed a swimsuit. In every scene was Will with his arm
around her, making them unmistakably a couple, no
casual friends on a genial outing, but a couple.
"Let's see," said Arnie, reaching his arm out.
Slowly he flipped through the collection and handed it
back, remarking pleasantly that it looked as if they
had been having a grand time over there.
"It was a business trip," Hyacinth exed. "Lina
wanted me to look at French fabrics,
and Will's firm has bought Lina's, so we're all
one now."
She knew each of these two men so well that she had
I
BO doubt what each was thinking. Will, of course, was
p annoyed at this intrusion on their night, and
Arnie was jealous. With a touch of wonderment, she
reI that this was her first experience of being in a 3 together
with two men, both of whom desired her. bar from Will
broke the uncomfortable pause. "Do you live all
r round in Florida, Dr. Ritter?"
"Oh yes, I'm well settled. I'm in
practice there. Surgery."
"Then you're a native, the real thing," Will said
pleasantly.
Arnie laughed. "Nobody's a native there.
No, I just gave up my practice in
Hyacinth's town a few years ago. Her former
town, I should say. That's how we met. We're
old friends by now."
"That's how we met, too. My family had a
store there, R.j. Miller, on the square."
"That right? Used to buy my stuff there all the time,
ties, sweaters, and things. You had nice merchandise.
You still there?"
"No, we sold out. They've torn our place
down to put up a ten-story office building. The
town's growing fast. When I think of what my
great-grandfather paid for the land a hundred years ago and
what we got for it-it's unbelievable,"
Now that they've got onto a subject, Hyacinth
was thinking, Arnie will never leave.
"I know what you mean. I built my office,
let's see, it's seventeen years ago, and the
difference in cost is also unbelievable. I had a
beautiful little white building, a fortune's worth of
limestone, not big, just two stories, but the location
couldn't be beat. It was just three blocks off the
square."
"That wasn't the office that burned down, was it?"
"Yeah, that's it."
Arnie's glance passed over Hyacinth. The glance
was neutral. Then he coughed.
Perhaps three seconds, no more, went by before Will .
sociably continued the conversation. "I was in a rush that
day and got into town not long after dawn, so I passed
through all the excitement. It was still blazing.
Terrifying, with the hook and ladder, the broken glass,
the crowds, the flames and the smoke, a war zone.
Fire and human flesh-it's an age-old
terror."
"Sure is," Arnie said. "Pretty tough."
As always, when she was in distress, Hyacinth's hands
clenched together in her lap. Now, willing herself
to appear relaxed, she placed her hands on the arms
of the chair.
"I heard talk that it might have been arson," Will
added. .
Arnie shrugged. "There's always talk," he
replied.
Will, agreeing to that, went on to ex his interest in the
subject. "We had some big trouble like it in one of
our stores about twenty years ago. I remember
all the talk every night at the dinner table. They did
a lot of investigating. I guess everybody but the
FBI must have been called in, and finally they narrowed
it down to an employee who, after first denying anything,
finally admitted that he had been smoking and must have
been careless. My father never believed him, though. The
fellow had a grievance against the company, and
everybody knew about it. He had a clear
motive."
"So what happened?" asked Arnie, showing interest.
"I don't recall the details because I went
away to college about that time, but I know they
got him and he served a couple of years." com8Was
anyone hurt?" Arnie asked.
"No, fortunately nobody was, though it's a
miracle. The place was an inferno."
"He would have served a hell of a lot more if
anybody had died in it," Arnie said. "That's a
felony-murder, probably second degree."
Hyacinth did not look at him. Why is he
prolonging this conversation? Why is he doing this to me?
He could easily turn it to something else, like real
estate values or where Will had gone to college.
"It makes you wonder, doesn't it," Will said,
"how anybody can let a grievance turn into such
rage. It makes you wonder about people, about whom you can
ever trust. He looked so innocent, my father said, the
kind you never suspect."
This was unbearable. Her very heart and soul were exposed.
She might as well have been sitting here naked between
these men. And hoping that her face was not as bloody red
as it felt, Hyacinth rose and moved to the
television set, observing that it was time for the eleven
o'clock news.
Arnie jumped up. "Eleven already? I've got
some day tomorrow, enough to break your back. So Pm going
to run along, Hy. I'll be in touch.
Say, Will-don't mind if I call you that, I
hope-we can share a cab. It's tough getting one in
this neighborhood this time of night, and we're lucky
if we find one, let alone two."
Now there was nothing to do but see them both to the door.
How adroitly Arnie had pried Will loose! But
it was just as well, for she was now in no condition for the
night of love that had just begun when Arnie had
intruded.
"It makes you wonder about people, about whom you can
trust."
What shall I tell him? He will want to know why, for
all this time, I have hidden the truth. At the very least,
he will doubt me. At most, he will despise me.
I would, if I were he.
In an odd way, she saw herself stunned and mentally
immobilized by terror. She walked the length of the
living room and back. Back and forth. Midnight
struck, and she lay down, hot and cold by turns,
and too paralyzed to weep. The night passed.
The telephone rang twice in the morning, the first
call being Will's.
"Your friend threw some cold water on us last night,
didn't he?"
"I should say so. Funny, he's never
visited without calling first."
"Tell me about him. He's what you call a character,
isn't he?"
She knew by Will's voice that he was displeased, which
surprised her, because he seldom allowed things to
be
displease him seriously,
-" "There's nothing much to tell. He's never had
children, and he's one of those people who should have tfaem, so
he's been very attached to mine when-when
r
equals they'reeain Florida. He's horse
crazy, and he's made them jvfaorse crazy,
too, which is very healthy for them." She U8was
babbling too much. "So that's about all," she
concluded.
"He's jealous, Hy. He didn't enjoy those
pictures of us
in France and he showed it, as if he didn't give
a damn whether he offended you or me. Especially
me."
"No, no. Arnie's not interested in me. I'm
nothing to him. He's got women all over the
country, pop singers, starlets, gold shoes in the
daytime, piles of makeup, glamour
types. Not me."
"I don't agree. A man sees other men more
clearly than a woman ever can. He wants you,
Hyacinth, and if he were your type, I'd have reason
to be jealous. But since he's so obviously not your
type, God bless him and good riddance to him even though
he interrupted our fun last night."
"I know, but he really is a good sort."
"Well, okay, but what about our important
discussion? Can we continue it tonight?"
She was not ready. She must disget away to think. She
must figure out how to tell him about it all, the
divorce, the children, the fire. ... She had a
mountain to climb.
Uncertain about what to answer, she said, "You forget
that I'm going to my mother's house for a few days and
I'm leaving this afternoon."
"Well, hurry back, will you?"
"Of course I will, as fast as I can, you know that."
"While you're gone, Til go apartment hunting.
Want to bet that I'll have found a great place
by next week? Have a good time. Say hello to your
mother for me, and to Emma and Jerry. Pm waiting
to meet them all."
Not five minutes later, Arnie called.
He was abrupt.
M
I want to see you tonight, Hy."
She did not want to see him and was beginning to say
so, when he insisted, "Tonight, Hy. It's
important. In the restaurant at my hotel at
nine."
was Arnie, you're worrying me. Is anything
wrong?" "Yes, and then again, no. But we need
to talk." At least the children, at Francine's
house, were all right. Obviously then, this was to be
all about W.
In the evening she came prepared to upbraid him at
once for last night, but the first sight of him showed that
he was troubled, and she did not. His lavish silvery
hair,
always so carefully tended and waved, was tousled, and
- his hand-painted imported tie was askew.
"I didn't sleep last night," he announced as
he took his seat on the other side of the table. "It
was one of the i worst nights I've ever had, and I
don't mind telling you." i He waved away wine
and waved away the menu. "Or- Fder something, Hy.
Whatever you want, I'll eat. I don't f
feel like eating, anyway. Haven't had a
thing in my bar jBOU-THIS all day except coffee."
"I haven't felt very well either, Arnie. First,
before we H8ay anything else, tell me why you
kept harping on that bject last night? You must have
known what you were 5 to me. When you said that about
felony-murders. I could hardly believe it was you
saying it." I; "Did you know what I was feeling
when your I showed those pictures? I went into a
rage. I dn't help it. I'm sorry, fiy."
And as he leaned for1 within inches of her face,
Arnie's familiar, friendly a became hard,
copper-colored slits. "He's your lover, n't
he? Level with me." We love each other." she
answered simply.
Now, drawing back, he gave a low whistle.
"Right here under my nose! I was waiting for you,
Hyacinth. Didn't you realize that? I thought we
had a-an understanding. A relationship, or whatever you
callddit."
The light revealed a drop of sweat on his forehead.
And because he had never seemed to be a person whom one
would associate with suffering, it astonished her that he
should be feeling it so deeply. Then, ashamed of having
made so superficial a judgment, she felt both
guilt and pity.
With a break in her voice, she answered, "I'm
sorry, too. I thought we were just very, very good friends.
I never meant, I never would deceive you."
"You knew we were more than good friends! You can't tell
me you didn't."
On the fifth floor, directly above this table, was
the room with the bed. It flashed now before her: a fancy
cream-colored headboard against striped wallpaper
and a pair of lamps with pink shades on either side.
She had been standing not more than fifteen feet away
from that bed and far less than fifteen minutes from lying
in it. They had been two warm, eager bodies, she
with net breast already bared. Of course she had known!
"You never made it clear to me," she said
awkwardly.
"I saw how confused you were, and I gave you time
to get over your troubles. You had the kids, your work;
and the other business on your mind."
The other business.
At the piano across the room, a young man wai singing
one of those old love songs from the 1930's that never
seemed to go out of fashion. Somebody at the nejfl
table was humming along. A cork popped. Did
anybody ever have, or could anybody here, in the midst
of all this velvety comfort, imagine something
like "the other business"? Her thoughts had already strayed
from Arnie, so she brought them back to him, repeating,
"I'm sorry. I never meant to deceive you. Believe
me."
When the dinners were placed before them, he took a
mouthful and laid down the fork, declaring, "Fact is,
after your friend brought up the subject last night, I
kept it going on purpose. I wanted to hear how
he might deal with you if he ever should know, God
forbid that he ever should."
"God forbid? But I have to tell him. The trouble is
that I don't know how, or else I haven't got
the courage."
"You really want to marry him, Hy?" "Yes.
Oh, yes!"
"I'll be damned, that's all I can say. I'll
be damned. I san't get it through my head.
Close as we've been, and the kids and all. Oh,
I know I'm not like him, Hy. He's good-looking,
not that I'm so bad, but he's more your je, and-oh, I
know his type-high-class music and l-books, the
stuff you like. But I'd do all that, too,
to F@ddlease you. You bet I would. And with me-well,
there I no secrets. See? You're scared to tell
him, and you ylffaould be. You damn well
should be, Hy." s bar just The emphasis alarmed
her, and she cried out, "What were you mean?"
"I mean," he said, lowering his voice to a
secretive "because he won't like it. You heard him
talking TT that case of theirs. It was a case
exactly like yours.
He'll hesitate, or maybe he'll be scared
away right off the bat. And he's got family,
hasn't he? He'll talk it over with somebody he
trusts. He'll want another opinion, and he'll
get it. You'd better believe he'll get it.
Take my word, Hy. If there's one thing I know,
it's people. Nobody fools me."
True enough. Arnie had all the marks of a man who
knew his way about the world.
Nevertheless, she spoke bravely. "Then I'll
marry him without telling him."
Arnie frowned. "Oh, no. You'd never last more
than a couple of weeks that way. People can't live
together and keep things like that buttoned up inside. The
secret would torment you. Every time you looked at him
or touched him in bed, you'd feel you ought to tell him.
And what then? Do you think any man would
appreciate getting a hell of a present like that one
dumped on him after he's just put the ring on
your finger? What kind of a marriage do you think you'd
have then? Or would you have any marriage? You want
another divorce? Andwiththe secret out? Once it's
out, you know, it's out, let me tell you. And then there
goes everything-big job, good name, kids, the whole
works. No, you're better off the way you are, Hy.
Take it from me. I wasn't born yesterday. And
neither was your friend W. He's on the way up in the
world, and he doesn't need to carry your troubles in his
luggage."
"Why don't you stop this? I never knew you could be so
cruel," she cried angrily. Yet when she took
out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, Arnie looked
away. For a man so blunt-spoken, he also had
unusual delicacy.
"Why do I love you? Why do you love me?"
the man sang at the next table. People were laughing.
She took a forkful of mashed potatoes. She
needed to be home in her bed in the dark with the blanket
drawn over her face. She needed W. Yet not
right now., or until there was some light at the end of
this tunnel. Her thoughts were raging and battling in her
head.
"Either way, it's not easy," Arnie said.
She did not catch his meaning until he
continued, "I hate to tell you, but you've got something
else to think about besides love right now. The kids
aren't happy. There've been changes."
"Changes?" she whispered.
"Gerald's had a visitor all summer, one of his
singers, starlets, or whatever you want to call her.
She doesn't get along with the kids. Maybe it
started because they don't -- like her. She takes
Gerald's time-when he's not working comand that means less
time for them. He plays tennis with her, for instance,
instead ofwith Jerry. That kind of thing. Look, I'm
no psychologist, but that's what I think. And a
couple of weeks ago, they had a big run-in,
something about Charlie, the dog,, you know. She hit it,
and Emma went wild and hit her. Then Eareen-some
crazy, invented name-no, Arveen-slapped Emma,
and Jerry pitched into Arveen. It's a mess. I
heard about it from the nanny. Now the nanny's quit
the job. Too much for her, she said."
"Arnie, why didn't you tell me this before?"
"What would be the use? What can you do about it? It's
not child abuse. You can't notify the police."
Quite so. Gerald was the custodian. She had signed
away her rights, and now she was helpless, sitting here
speechless and limp while he cavorted in
Florida.
"I told Gerald to get another nanny. The first
one was kind of a pill, but she was good to them. The kids
want her back, but she's already got another job.
Looks as if the starlet's there to stay awhile.
He's attached to her, the way a woman gets
attached to a piece of jewelry and wears it every day,
even on the beach." Arnie gave a sardonic
chuckle. "Well, well, I was his age once.
Now I've learned enough to look for quality in a
woman, not tinsel."
Hyacinth's mind had been racing ahead. Her anger
at Arnie had evaporated. "Arnie," she
pleaded, "you've been so good, so wonderful, you've
acted like a father. So do you think you could call an
agency down there and find another nanny? You'd know
what to look for. Will you?"
"They don't really want another nanny, Hy.
What they want is you. That's the long and the short of
it. They want their mother. They tell me. Out on
horseback and jogging along, we talk. I hate
to hurt you, but you might as well know the truth."
"What am I going to do?" she wailed, so bitterly
that the waiter who had come to refill the coffee cups
was startled.
"I don't know. You've got too much on your
plate, that I do know. I will say this, though: If you
were dowt there with me, I could probably influence
Gerald. In fact,: I'm sure I could put a
little pressure on him. We get along fine, I
don't mean that. But money-contracts, real
estate." mortgages held in common-well, you
see how it is."
What she saw was a long path leading from herself, to Will,
and to her children. The path was crooked and dark, filled with
obstacles. And seeing no way past them, she sat
across from Arnie with nothing to say. Evidently he,
too, had nothing more to say.
At last he spoke. "You're going to Francine's
this week?"
"I hadn't planned to leave till Thursday, but
I need to go sooner. I'd go tonight if it weren't
already so late."
"Why don't you confide in your mother? She might
suggest something."
Hyacinth shook her head. "No. She's had enough with the
loss of Dad. She's had enough on her mind. I
don't want to crush her."
"I didn't mean telling her about the fire. You
didn't think I meant that, did you?"
"Of course not."
"I meant the kids. And you and W. Ask her what
she thinks."
It was quite clear to Hyacinth that Arnie wanted
Francine to plead a case for him. And grasping his
hand, she spoke from a full heart.
"There will never be time enough to thank you for i
f
everything you do," she said.
"You thank me too much, Hy. Just don't forget that
frFm here for you. And if you ever fall, I'll
pick you up."
had been right about the children. Hyacinth had been long at
Francine's house before she saw that. Bile dog
Charlie had come with them, and one of the
first things they had to tell was about the day Arveen had
hit him.
"Mommy! She wanted to kill Charlie," Emma
said. "Do you know what I'll do if she does?
I'll kill her. I'll buy a big gun and
I'll blow her head off the way those boys do in
school, the ones on TV."
Emma's face, distorted in righteous anger, was
unfamiliar. Every time I see her, thought Hyacinth,
she looks unfamiliar, and it is not only
because she is a few weeks or even a few months
older. Experience and emotion have left their marks.
Right now Emma looks as she may after four or
five more years are added to her age: vindictive, with
tight lips and narrowed eyes. Her little fists are
clenched.
Trying to soothe, she exed, Tm sure she didn't
mean to hurt Charlie. She was probably sorry
she hit him. Sometimes people lose their tempers and afterward
they know they were wrong."
"She wasn't sorry. You don't even know her, so
how can you say she was sorry?"
"She's a bitch," Jerry said.
"What?" cried Francine. "I've told you a
dozen times this week not to use that word anymore."
"Everybody uses it. You're old-fashioned.
Everybody's grandmother is old-fashioned, and
everybody says bitch." And Jerry, giggling, was so
pleased with his : own wit, that he had to jump up out
of the chair and up-j set his jigsaw puzzle.
"Oh damn, damn, damn!" he said. "Son of a
bitch, I've worked on this goddamn thing ever since
we got here, and now look."
Francine's silence was in deference to the children's mother,
and the mother was astonished. How. could Gerald,
as precise and formal as he was, allow this
language?
So using the two words she most avoided, Hyacinth
quietly asked Jerry whether "your father" ever heard
him speak that way.
Jerry laughed. "He can't stop us. Arveen says
worse words, Mom, but he can't make her stop,
either. Arveen is the boss." Once launched on his
speech and in possession of an audience, he
continued, "And do you know why? Because she's stacked,
that's why."
"Stacked?"
"Yes. Like this," said Jerry with a knowing leer and the
appropriate rounded gestures.
Something had gone terribly wrong. The two women
stared at each other as if asking what was to be done.
Perhaps nothing, and ignore it for the time being? You couldn't
keep a boy his age in the nursery. And once he
left it, he moved ahead into a world where he saw and
heard things you didn't like. It was only to be
expected, 'fflid more so than ever these days. On the
other hand, must the world move into the home and take it
over? Arveen, whoever she is, should not be a model for
my thildren,
thought Hyacinth. The repetition thundered in
faerhead.
The dog got up, shook itself, and went to lie down
again near Emma's feet. The softness of the little
creature, "hly a heap of silky hair over
fragile bones, moved her to left-brace
Hty. It was so innocent in its trust, so vulnerable
to any
lelty that might come its way. It was like Emma.
"Charlie hasn't had his walk today. This is a good
time to take htm," Francine suggested.
If they've been like this all week, she must be
exhausted, Hyacinth thought, but she would never let me
know it. And a wave of memory came over her here in
the house where she had grown up: the cheerful sound of
Francine keeping order in a roomful of noisy
boys, her own three and the neighbors"; the good,
hot smell of broiling on the grill, while from the
farthest room came the reverberation of Jim's
music. What an easy time she had had growing up
in this cocoon of love and safety! But of course
she hadn't known then how easy it was.
"Let's go. Get Charlie's leash, and we'll go
down to the woods. It's lovely there." It was
important to sound enthusiastic. "There's a little
pond where I used to watch frogs."
The children were wild with exploding energy as they raced
ahead. The woods were indeed lovely, quiet and
dark, with spots of light, a large circle of it
around the pond where Hyacinth had used to sit on a
log.
"Sit down and be very still," she said now. "Maybe
we'll see some."
After a minute or two with no frogs in sight, she
knew she must hold their attention, for both of them,
disgruntled, were fidgeting with impatience. And she so
much
.
needed to have this time alone with them, to have their attention and
to feel the closeness of their bodies.
"Do you know where frogs come from?" she began. When no
answer came, she went on eagerly, "Out of eggs,
just like chickens."
Her voice was high, nervous, and too eager. She
I
wanted them to love being with her, she wanted to give
them a store of memories so that one day they might
look back and say,
We went to the woods with Mom and she told us about
frogs

"Yes, like chickens," she continued, "but not
exactly, because their eggs are tiny specks that they
lay on twigs or leaves in the water. They lay
them in the spring."
There being no response to this either she produced a
fact that might be more interesting.
"Did you know that some frogs can climb?"
"That's not true," Jerry said crossly.
"Oh, yes it is. They're even called tree
frogs because they live on trees and bushes. In the
spring you hear their beautiful, loud chirping around you,
and then you know that winter is really over."
"Who cares?"
Deciding that it was probably best to ignore the
response, Hyacinth continued, "Don't you think
it's odd that they can climb? Don't you wonder how
they do it? Well, they have tiny pads on their toes
so they can hold on. Other frogs don't have those
pads."
Emma announced that she was tired of sitting, so
Hyacinth stood up and led the way back. Their
feet, crackling over the leaves of many past years,
were loud, as was the silence. A queer contradiction that
was: loud silence.
"Look!" cried Emma. "Look what
Charlie has. It'll make him sick."
"It's only an acorn, dear, and he won't eat
it. Squirrels
1.
do, not dogs. Let him play with it." And making
yet another determined attempt to clear the
atmosphere, she
said pleasantly, "Can you imagine? If you plant
an acorn in the ground, it will someday be an oak like that
one over there, twice as high as a house."
Jerry mumbled something. Inaudible as it was, there could
be no doubt that it was rude. He had really gone
too far, and she was desperate. Perhaps, though,
Jerry was desperate, too. Although he resisted,
she drew him to her.
"Tell me," she said softly, "why you're so
unhappy today."
When he shook his head, she continued, "You're
angry because you're unhappy. Won't you tell
me?"
"I'm unhappy, too," cried Emma, beginning
to sniffle.
They were all feeling the solemnity of the moment.
Something real, something deeply felt and not the easiest
to express, was trembling among them.
"Is it because of Arveen and Charlie?" asked
Hyacinth, knowing quite well that it must be far more than that.
"We don't like it there anymore," Emma
blurted. "And Tessie says you're a bad mother,
and you are. You
backslash
didn't let us stay in our own house, and I like my
room

and the dollhouse."
How to ex all this? There was too much to ex. , that the
dollhouse had been a built-in piece that, could not
be moved, and that Tessie was not to be be- lieved.
That dour person must be a marvelous cook,. thought
Hyacinth, or Gerald, who sought beautiful people, would
never be keeping her sour face in his house. It' was
all too complicated, and she hardly knew how
tcThat begin.
Big brother was correcting little sister. "Mom
doesn't have that house anymore. Don't you know where
she lives all the time? It's in New York, where
we stayed in the apartment, and she took us to see the
dinosaurs and I had lobster for dinner and stuff disl
that."
"Well then, I want to live there all the
time," Emma protested. "I want to."
Tactfully, gradually, Hyacinth approached the
heart of the matter. "Don't you like your school
anymore?" she asked, meaning,
Don't you like, or love, or get along with your father
anymore?
Jerry answered, "It's a new school. We
haven't even been there yet. We'll have to stay all
day till dinnertime. Then Tessie will put Emma
to bed because we have no nanny. I put myself to bed, and
I don't need any nanny. I'm too old."
It's almost four years now. Time is racing, while
I stand still.
"Aren't you going to get another nanny?"
"Dad is getting somebody to- be with us on
Saturdays and Sundays, to drive us around and
stuff. Dad's always busy."
Hyacinth could not resist a question. "Because of Arveen?"
"Yep. Her and'lots of people. He goes places
when he's not working. He goes to parties with girls,
out on boats and stuff, Bruce says."
"Who's Bruce?"
"Bruce is my friend. You never remember my friends'
Barnes, His yard's next to ours. But he lives
with his mother, not like us. His dad's no good.
He hates his dad."
Hyacinth said quickly, "That's very sad. People need a
dad and a mom. You mustn't hate your dad. I
hope you don't."
"No, but we don't have fun anymore. And I
don't like being the only person who doesn't live
with his mom. Well, I'm not the only. There's one,
Donny, but that's different because his mom is dead. But
you're not dead."
"Then why don't we live with you?" demanded Emma,
"You could live in our house. There's lots of
room."
"No, she couldn't, stupid." Jerry was
exasperated. "Dad's already got a woman,
hasn't he? What do you think, that he wants two
women? Or maybe he does, but Mom's not one of
them." And he concluded, laughing, "You don't watch
cable TV, or you'd know."
Quietly, Hyacinth asked when he watched cable
TV.
"At night, when Dad's out and Tessie's in her
room, I get up sometimes. It's fun."
She must keep her tone level. This was something that
Arnie must take care of. Surely he would be able
to. And she said, still quietly, "It's not
good for you, Jerry. I really don't want you to do it
anymore."
"I don't live with you, so I don't have to obey
you."
"That's a mean thing to say to me, Jerry."
"No, it isn't. You're the one who's mean. You
should let us live in that apartment where we stay. We
could see the dinosaurs and go ice skating and stuff."
Caught and tied. She must struggle to loosen the
tie. "I have to work," she said, "for right now,
anyway."
There was a pout on Emma's pert little face. "You
don't have to make those dresses." And then, with no
plausible connection between the two, she made another
accusation. "You don't even go riding with us,"
"I don't know how," Hyacinth said weakly.
"Uncle Arnie can teach you. He always says he
wants to."
"All right. Next time I go to see you, I'll
take my first lesson."
"You promise?"
"Yes."
"And you promise to come live in our house in
Florida?"
"I told you she can't-was Jerry had just
begun to shout when Hyacinth stopped him.
"Enough promises for today. First, I'll go riding with
you, and-was
Emma burst into tears. "You don't love me,"
she sobbed. "You don't. You don't."
They had returned to the frog pond. Hyacinth sat
down on a log and opened her arms. "Come sit here
with me, one on each side. I want to tell you how
much I love you. Then we'll all feel better."
"Are you crying, too?" asked Jerry. "You look
it."
"I am, a little."
"I'm not. Boys don't" cry," he said with his
voice cracking.
"Who says so?"
"Dad does."
How like him to hold Jerry to his fantasies of
perfecp tion! And she said strongly, "Dad's
wrong. Boys cer bar was lainly can, if they need
to."
"I wouldn't need to if you'd say you'd live with us."
People'
"I'll try. Now how about going back to the house and
we'll all make a cake for supper?"
Persistent as always, Emma said, "You
didn't promise. You only said you'd try."
"I w.*
It was an evasion, but no one caught it, and they
started back home. Heaven forgive her for the lie, but
it was the best she could do.
"So it's been a pretty hard week," Francine
concluded, as they were talking over coffee after Jerry
and Emma had gone to bed.
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to spend more of it with
you, but all of a sudden, there was a huge pile of work
to get out."
"I'm not coming, Hyacinth. I meant that it was hard for
them. They've changed, and it's very troubling. I've
tried, but I haven't been able to find out very much."
There was no sense in providing Francine with the
clues in her possession. It would only awaken a
sleeping dragon; ever since that impressive
debut in the Fifth Avenue store, Francine had
stopped harping on the disgraceful conditions of her
daughter's divorce. It was almost as if she were
experiencing a touch of awe at her daughter's
unexpected triumph.
But on this evening, Hyacinth was not to be spared, for
Francine was overwrought. "These children are not doing
well at all. They're secretive, they
mope, they're impertinent at times, and then they're
sorry. In short, , something needs to be done about
them."
"com.
"You can be sure I'll look into it."
be
sure
of anything," Francine retorted. "You don't
tell me anything. For four years I've been
kept in the dark. It's an outrage. You don't
trust me? Me? You don't know that I would fight for
you, or my sons, or any of my grandchildren? I'd
fight with my last breath, Hyacinth."
"I know that."
"Well, then! There's something rotten about Gerald,
something even worse than I ever suspected, though
I resented him at first glance. For God's sake,
tell me what 'th is about, and I'll get the best
lawyer in the U.s.a. I've told you a
hundred times at least. You'll never do it for yourself.
You're too timid. You were born that way, and it's
not your fault. I'm not blaming you-was
Hyacinth put up her hand. "Please," she
murmured. Francine was not to be stopped. "I'm so
proud of you, proud of your success. But
I'm baffled, totally baffled by this other side of
you-was
The telephone rang in the adjacent room. When
Fran- one returned after answering it and reported
that Will " was calling, Hyacinth's first emotion was
dread. Too many things were piling onto her all at
once. When she picked up the telephone, Will's
happy voice set up a buzz TT
of conflict in her head. He was telling her that he
had ac- g-ieomplished the miraculous and the
impossible: He had found the perfect apartment in
New York City. True, it : was expensive,
but it would be a lifetime city home, and : between the two
of them, they would be able to handle the mortgage. Of
course, she must see the place and ape, but he was
sure she would, because it was only H@.ro blocks from
the park, which would be wonderful
for the children, and by the way, had she decided on their
school? It was high time. He hoped it wasn't
too late.
As all these words poured into her ears, Hyacinth's
brain rang with the everlasting, terrifying question: What
to do?
"Who's Will?" asked Francine later. "I was
surprised. And he seemed surprised,
too. "You mean Hyacinth hasn't told you about
me?"' he asked. And when I said no, he said,
"Well, ask her now, and she'll tell you how
nice I am." his
If this question had been asked while she was living the
idyll in Normandy, her answer would have poured out in
joy and song, or if she had not chosen to answer right
then, the joy and song would have been bursting within her.
At this moment, she hardly knew how to describe
what was bursting within her. Concealing a sigh, she began
nevertheless the story of her first sight of Will, their
mutual recognition of love, and the time in France
during which the total awareness of their love had
revealed itself beyond doubt. She described him, his
person, not storybook handsome, but attractive and
strong; his thoughts and tastes, discerning and sensitive;
his character, forthright and highly honorable; his manner,
courteous and sometimes a trifle opinionated-this she
said with a smile.
To everything, Francine naturally paid complete
attention. At the conclusion, she inquired, "Is he
to be a husband or a "significant other"?"
"I hate that silly term, but I don't hate the
idea. Will does. He wants marriage. He
insists on it."
"And you don't agree?"
"I don't disagree. It's just that-things get
complicated. My days aren't long enough anymore."
"What you're not saying is that you're worried about
Emma and Jerry and how they will fit into the plans."
There was a great lump in Hyacinth's throat, too
large for her to give an immediate reply. After a moment
she managed to say, "That's no problem. Will loves
children."
"Does Will know that you don't have custody of them?"
"No." And she met Francine's eyes, which were so
keenly fixed upon her that the very working of Hyacinth's
brain must be exposed to those eyes.
"In all this time, you've never said a word? When on
earth are you going to tell him? And what on earth are
you going to tell him?"
"I don't know yet. I'm thinking."
Francine's lips tightened in disapproval, as she
remarked that she was, to say the least, appalled.
"What can there be to think about? You can't possibly be
intending to marry a man without telling him everything about
yourself. My God, you've just been saying how
honorable he is." Francine's anger mounted.
"I asked you, what are you thinking about?"
That's just what Arnie said....
Hyacinth stood up. "I have to go to bed. I've had
enough talk for one day." She spoke abruptly, as
Fran- cine had done. "We can talk again tomorrow, or
maybe the next day if I'm able."
As it happened, there was no time on the following day
because, shortly before noon, a distress call came from
Una. An important midwestern shop had sold
out the last shipment, important customers were in a
hurry, and three important people on the Libretti
staff were out sick, so would Hyacinth come back
immediately?
"I have to take the next train," she exed to Fran-
cine. "It's an SOS, and I can't take Jerry
and Emma with me. What would I do with them while
I'm working? Unless you can come, too."
"I can't leave until the roofers are finished here.
They'll be through by Friday, I'm sure, and then
we'll join you."
"I'm sorry to leave them with you while they're
irf-a bad mood."
"When you love people, you put up with their bad moods,
don't you? And these two are darling most of the time,
anyway. They're simply puzzled." Francine
sighed. "Lord knows, they have enough reason to be
puzzled."
There being no way of answering that without renewing the
previous night's argument, Hyacinth made no
answer, kissed everyone, hugged the beloved Charlie,
and left.
On the train and through two busy days and wakeful
nights, she wrestled with herself. In the end, still not at
perfect ease with the decision, she made it: She would
tell Will that she did not have custody of her children. There
was no other possible way.
But still, that was only half the problem. How to answer
the obvious question: Why? At worst, he would not
believe her, while at best, say what you will, he
would
have doubts about her. She would change at once before his
eyes. Gerald was, after all, a responsible
man, a respected physician. Would such a man
behave as he was behaving without good reason?
On the third day, when Will telephoned, she was still
distressed and unsure. He was annoyed. No, he
was angry. Francine had told him that she was back
in the city, and he failed to understand why she had not let
him know. To say that she was working late was a strange
excuse for not getting in touch with him. Hyacinth
tried to mollify him by admitting that she was wrong,
by apologizing, and by saying over and over how
much she loved him. And she fabricated a touch of
illness that was not altogether a fabrication, there having been
many moments when her breath had seemed to fail.
At the end, Will forgave her, told her never
to worry him like this again, told her how he loved her,
missed her, and would be at her house tomorrow evening
to talk about the apartment plans and dates.
Because her head still spun with worry about Will and worry
about the children, she determined simply to try for a good
night's sleep, to think positively, and to let
events play themselves out.
On Thursday, Hyacinth left work an hour
early, intending to relax in a long bath and change
into something to please Will: a flowered lounging coat with very
little underneath. Overnight her spirits had obligingly
risen. When two people wanted each other and understood
each other as intensely as they did, surely even the
hardest problem would somehow be solved, she reasoned.
Thinking so, she turned the key in the lock, entered the
hall, and there, in front of her, sitting in the living
room, she found Emma, Jerry, and Francine.
"Mommy! Mommy!" cried Emma. "We came
in the car because they didn't let us take Charlie on
the train."
She was stricken. "But you said-you said you were
coming on Friday," she stammered.
"The roofers finished early," Francine exed, "and
there seemed to be no reason to hang around. Jerry and
Emma look forward to doing things in the city."
Anger paralyzed Hyacinth, blocking thought. The
dog jumped on her legs, Jerry said something about a
boat ride around New York tomorrow, and Will was due
in two hours. What was to have been a gradual,
measured discussion between the two of them would now be a-a
circus. She wanted to scream.
Francine was puzzled. "Is anything wrong?" she
asked.
"Well, just that I had plans for the evening, and I'm
trying to think how to change them."
"We got lots of food for dinner," announced
Jerry. "We thought maybe you wouldn't have enough for us, so
we bought good things at that store near this house.
Lots of barbecued chicken-the man let me taste
the sauce, and it's great. And some shrimps,
especially for me because I'm the only person who
wanted any. And those brown rolls with raisins in
them. I love rolls with raisins. Do you, Mom?"
Apparently, Jerry was turning into an epicure.
"When we live here, I could go to that store all the
time, couldn't I?"
Oh please, she begged silently, don't let us
get on that subject again, not now.
As if she had not heard his question, she went to the
telephone in the bedroom, saying, "I'll have
to make a call."
Will would be really angry this time, and no wonder, but
she would have to make and risk some excuse; a sudden
attack this afternoon, a cold and fever would be the most
believable. And then stay out of work tomorrow and "recover"
the next day after Jerry and Emma had left. Even
as the tricky plan took shape in her mind, she was
stung with the shame of it.
Will's secretary told her that he had just left.
She tried his home number. What she heard was the
answering machine, on which she left a message:
"Call as soon as you get in. Not feeling well.
Cold and a touch of fever."
Rarely had she felt so desperately cornered.
Here was no question of a week's or even a day's
postponement; this was immediate. How was she to ex or even
communicate to Will in the presence of Francine and the
children?
Francine was standing in the doorway, looking
anxious, and could not be ignored.
Tm expecting Will," she whispered. "This
is about the worst thing that could happen. I had intended
to talk about things, and-well, how am I to do it with an
audience? Tell me that?"
"Come, come. He knows they exist, doesn't he?
Don't get hysterical. As for me, Til get out
of the way if you want me to. I'll go to the
movies. No problem."
"No, no, it's not you. Oh, it's too
complicated. I left a message. If only he
gets it!"
"Well, let's eat right now and have them go to bed
early because we're getting up early for the boat
ride. Tell them you have company and they must stay in
their room. Come on,"
Francine had already set the table. The bought food was
arranged on platters, and the coffeepot was on the
stove. Her thoughtfulness was touching. I am so
brittle now, thought Hyacinth, that anything can break
me, this little kindness or a cross word.
Fortunately for her in this condition, nothing was
required of her during the meal. Both children were in good
spirits, for Francine had let them take turns in the
front seat, and they had stopped at lunchtime on the
way for pizza. All this discussion passed like distant
whispers over Hyacinth's ears, attuned
as they were to the ring of the telephone. There was only an
hour to go, and it had still not rung.
"I'll tidy the kitchen while you talk to the
kids," Fran- cine offered, and with marked sympathy
she gave counsel. "Don't make yourself sick.
It'll work out fine, you'll see. Just tell them
to say a polite hello and then to go read or watch
the small TV in their room. Anyhow, your man
may not even come."
But "her man" did indeed come, and for an instant, he
did indeed seem very surprised to find Francine
and the two children there.
"An unexpected visit," Hyacinth exed as she
made the introductions, "in from the country."
Hoping that Will would see that this was an intimate
family evening and cut his visit short, she
remarked that they did not get to see each other very
often, so that even a day was a treat.
This hint was apparently not understood, because Will at
once opened a friendly and what could be a lengthy
conversation.
"By now I'm sure you all must have heard about me because
I've heard about you, and I've been wanting to meet
you," he said, and he turned to the children, who by now, in
their neat bathrobes, sat properly on
straight chairs, leaving the comfortable chairs for the
adults.
"Do you know how I met your mother? She was carrying a
beautiful dress she had made for you, Emma. It
had roses on it. I hope you liked it."
"I did like it," Emma said earnestly. "But I
don't like it anymore because it's too small for
me."
"Well, that means you've grown, and that's very good.
I'll bet, if you ask her, she'll make another
one for you."
"Of course I will," Hyacinth said quickly.
The conversation had to move fast; no empty space
could last longer than a few seconds if silence was
not to deaden the mood.
And Francine, always alert to every nuance, jumped
gracefully into the empty moment to say something about the
talent that Hyacinth had kept hidden.
"Why, she had never in her life made a dress
before be that one for Emma. And now, look at her, with
her name on a label."
f "I'm looking," Will said, "and I'm as proud as
can be.
be
f only don't want her to get too
busy."
"Oh, I'm not," Hyacinth protested. "These last
few days-well, you know how, no matter what your
work is, there's always a little rush, a small
emergency now and then. That's what's happened to me this
week. But you have to expect it."
"I have a feeling that you're pretty overtired right
now. Working in New York under pressure is
famous for doing that to people,"
"No, no," Hyacinth protested again. "I'm
fine." And then suddenly dismayed, she remembered the
message on Will's answering machine. "But since
you've noticed, I have to admit I have a slight
fever. Maybe I'm coming down with something. I
don't know. I left a message on your
machine."
"Then you should be in bed," Will advised. "People don't
walk around when they have a fever."
Francine gave a fond laugh. "You don't know
her well enough yet. She's indomitable, a real
workhorse."
Intensely uncomfortable at being the subject and the
center of discussion, Hyacinth sat with a fixed smile
on her lips. Her mind was churning. Tomorrow or the
next day, after the children were gone, there could be
no more postponements or evasions; he would have to know that
they lived with their father.
If only everyone would stop talking, then Will would go
home and she could go into her quiet room, alone.
There in the stillness, surely a plausible
explanation would come from somewhere in her head.
"My family always laughed at me," Francine was
saying, "and I suppose it was rather silly of me, but
I always adored anything French. Anything. It
seems to me that
they really know how to live, don't they? So I know
what you mean."
Will obviously had been talking about their time in
France. And hastening to catch up with the conversation so that
she would not appear as uneasy as she felt,
Hyacinth remarked that yes, she too had loved
seeing Brittany.
"But we were talking about the south, about the wild
horses in the Camargue," Will said with a puzzled
expression.
"I know! I mean that-I mean, I'm sure they're
fascinating, but I meant that I still loved
Brittany the best."
Wondering whether there was anything too strange about this
blunder, she glanced furtively at W.
He seemed to be enjoying himself, which was not surprising
because Francine was interesting, elegant, and poised;
surely, too, Francine was enjoying Will, who was
equally interesting. If my mind were clear, she thought,
I would be happy just to watch them together, happy that they
must approve of each other.
All this time Jerry and Emma had been quietly
observing the scene. They too must be making a fine
impression upon W. If he had had any doubts
about how a pair of strange children might affect his
life, he couldn't have many now. Touched to the heart by the
picture they made, she gave them a wink and a
smile.
"Maybe Mr. Miller would like some candy," Emma
said, "Shall I get it, Mom?"
Francine laughed. "That's very thoughtful, Emma.
Tell me," she teased, "maybe you want some
candy,
: tOO?"
"Yes," said Emma. "It's fudge, my
favorite kind."
Now Will stepped in. "Isn't that funny? It's
mine, too."
And Jerry spoke up. "Maybe you like rolls with
raisins? We had some for dinner, but that's a
long time ago. We could have more now if you want to,
Mr. Miller."
"Why, that's nice of you, Jerry."
Francine proposed coffee. "If you'd like some,
Will, and if I may call you "Will"?"
"Yes to both. I certainly want you to call me
"Will," and coffee would be just fine along with one of
Jerry's rolls. I have an idea you have a good
appetite, Jerry. Do you play lots of
sports?"
"I'm pretty good at tennis, and everybody
plays soccer and baseball, but mostly I like
riding. I have a great new horse. He's big and
his name's King Charlie, like our dog."
The dog Charlie, who had been asleep in the
corner, was awakened by the general movement to the table in
the dining ell. Now he followed and lay down under the
table.
Rather solemnly, the children put the plate of rolls and a
silver candy dish in front of W. He was amused.
His eyes had a twinkle when he looked toward
Hyacinth, as if to say something like
See? I've already taken to these kids, and not only
because they belong to you, but because they're really cute,
really nice.
So as the little group sat comfortably together there, a new
and welcome warmth began to creep through Hyacinth's
veins. And with it there appeared, unbelievably, the
solution to her tormenting problem.
How simple it is! she exclaimed to herself. All
she must do is to say that the children want it this way; they
love the Florida house, the beach life and the
freedom. Considering, too, her own confinement at
work, it did make some sense, although in another way
it almost broke her heart. Nevertheless, to deny them their
wish would be all wrong.
Add to all that, she thought, the fact that she was not the
only woman with a busy career to turn her children over
to her former husband, and she had an answer to her question.
She might not like the answer, but it was at least
plausible.
"We realiy should give something to Charlie," Emma
said.
Hyacinth reminded her that he had had his dinner, but
Emma persisted.
"He does want something so badly. Only a little
bite, Mommy. He's begging. See his eyes."
Will looked toward Hyacinth. "Perhaps just that little
"bite and no more?"
It was probably the plea in Emma's
eyes that had moved him, and overjoyed by seeing it,
Hyacinth agreed. So Will broke off a piece of
his roll, carefully removed the raisins, and fed
Charlie. Oh, it's going to be good, she thought, and
gave thanks. Yes, it's going to be good.
"So you both like to ride," Will resumed sociably.
"Your mother showed me some great pictures of you on
xfaorseback. You should have one enlarged and framed,
bar from Hyacinth."
"Uncle Arnie's doing that for us," Jerry said.
"He's Jthe one who took the pictures. Sometimes
we even go
riding with him, but he's much better than we are.
He jumps, and we don't."
"Well, I guess I'll have to learn to ride so
I can go along with you, too," Will remarked. "And you
should, too, Hyacinth."
"Uncle Arnie keeps telling her," Jerry said
earnestly. "He even offered to buy her a nice
easy mare for her birthday,"
"That's a very fine birthday present, I should say."
This conversation was becoming too personal. Nothing
wrong had been said, and Jerry was really being quite
delightful, yet Hyacinth felt uneasy. Once
he got started, it was almost impossible to know
what he might in all innocence say next. So
remarking that it was getting late, she asked him and
Emma to say goodnight and be ready for tomorrow's boat
ride around Manhattan. Obediently, on their
best behavior then, they rose.
"Yes, and you people need to get back into the habit of
waking up early for school," said Will, sounding a bit
like a father.
"Not as early as last year," Jerry replied.
"We have a new school this year."
Now desperation seized Hyacinth. "Bedtime. Right
now," she insisted.
But Emma, already at the door, was not finished. "We
don't want to go to that new school. All my friends
go to the old one, but Daddy won't let us. This one
makes us stay till five o'clock every day, and I
don't like it. I'm in third grade, and I'm old
enough to go where I want to go." All her grievances now
suddenly rising to the sur
face, she poured out her lament. "What I want
is to live here. I don't want to live in
Florida anymore. I want to stay here with
Mom, but she won't let us."
An odd stop occurred, a halt to the momentum, as
when a machine or an organism breaks
down without warning. Three glances fled around the
room; each of the three adults touched each other's
eyes and sped away.
Hyacinth, whose heart had plunged into her chest,
spoke first. "That's enough, Emma. We don't
want to hear any more. I said go to bed. Now."
Mercifully, Francine got up to take charge,
leaving Hyacinth alone with W. They had both-risen
and stood now looking at each other, she with a
violently burning face, and he with a puzzled,
shocked expression. She was not sure whether it was also
angry. After a few moments, he spoke.
"You're not feeling well. I won't keep you right
now. Go in to your children. I was glad to meet them."
Following him to the door and to the elevator in the outer
hall, Hyacinth fumbled for words. "You don't
understand. It's complicated. I meant to ex it to you
tonight, but they came, and-it's a long story-not too
long, I mean, but when we talk, you'll see what
I-was
"Yes," he said quietly, "we'll talk. We
need to."
When the elevator stopped, he said goodnight and
stepped inst With a soft whir, it descended.
Francine asked anxiously, "What did
he say?"
"Nothing. My God, why did you bring them here without
telling me first?"
"I'm dreadfully sorry, but I never thought about it.
There's nothing extraordinary about taking your
daughter's children to your daughter's house, is there? I
had the key, and we came, that's all."
"But in the circumstances-was Hyacinth wailed.
"What circumstances? You've got big trouble
written all over you, my heart aches, and I
hate to say this, but it's what comes of your absurd
secrets, of this crazy, unnatural situation, and-
Oh, I don't know what to make of it, Hyacinth!
What about Will? What's going to happen? Do you really
think you can go on living like this? Do you?"
"No. But must we talk about it right now? I want
to give the kids a good day tomorrow before they leave, and I
don't want to have red eyes from crying. What I
need is to go to bed."
"All right, dear." Francine's vexation drooped
into sadness. "Get some rest. Get some sleep."
And another night passed.
"Has everyone gone?" asked Will when he entered.
"Yes, my mother has gone back to the country, and the
children have-was
"Gone back to their father?"
"Yes, but listen, let me clarify everything, so
you'll understand."
"I already understand. I've thought of nothing else since
I left your house the night before last. I understand :
that you have consistently lied to me. What I don't know
is why."
His sorrowful, keen gaze confronted Hyacinth.
Scarcely knowing how to begin a reply, she labored,
"I haven't lied exactly. I do admit that I
have avoided telling the entire truth, Will, and-was
"It wasn't an outright lie that you left on my
answering machine? I found it when I got home.
Sick with a fever, you said."
"I did that because they had come without telling me, and I
wanted to see you alone."
"I think you were afraid that the children would divulge the
truth, which is just what they did do."
"It isn't that simple, W. Most divorces
aren't simple. You don't know, you can't imagine
it."
"Then tell me."
"We were very angry. I mean, I was. I told
you about the other woman. So you see, when he wanted
the children and they said-was
"No, that was wrong, completely inside out. Begin
again."
"When I wanted the children, of course I did, then
they wanted to live in his house, my parents had
taken them once to Florida and they had loved the
beach and remembered it, they wanted his house, they're
only children and that meant so much to them, so I didn't
want to deny them, it would have been harmful to force them,
people backslash so I-was She stopped. This was
absurd. How could she his llgve thought that anyone would
believe this tale that she was rattling?
Will's sorrowful, keen gaze still faced her. "But they
jj: don't want to stay there now," he said.
"I know, that's the awful part of it. I signed
something,
I didn't realize what I was doing, I was so
confused and miserable about everything, but now it's signed
and nothing can be done about it."
Again she stopped, these last words echoing. The words of
an idiot they were, not those of a woman smart enough to have
earned half a million dollars for herself in this last
year.
"Surely you must know that a divorce document
signed under such emotional stress can be reexamined.
Unless it was a court order. Was it?"
"No, just between Gerald and me."
"It can be reexamined. You must take it to court."
She had arrived at the impassable mountain. Here it
loomed, a grim stone wall. Pressed now with her
back against it, she paused, constructed a little
steeple with her fingers, steadied her thoughts, and tried
to speak with reason and calm.
"It wouldn't work. I've inquired. I would have to show
that I was completely irresponsible when I agreed
tor let him have custody. Nobody would believe that
about a woman who works as I work. Incidentally,
that's one of the reasons the children are better off with their
father. I work long hours, as you know."
Will did not answer. Without looking toward him, she was
yet aware that he was examining her. Afraid of
seeming foolish by wearing the usual silk robe with
its promise of a long sweet night, she had
dressed carefully and proudly; her feet, in
high-heeled pumps, were crossed at her ankles,
and her small diamond studs glistened in her ears.
The significance of all this would not
have escaped Will's critical and subtle mind. She
knew him well.
But perhaps not well enough? He was tapping the wooden
chair arm as he spoke. "It won't do,
Hyacinth. It's not good enough. What is the true
reason that he got away with this? What did he
threaten?"
"Threaten? No, no! He loves the children, and they
wanted to be with him, that's all there is to it. I
guess they love the beach house more than they love
me," she said ruefully, and then with an easy smile
added, "Oh, I don't mean that exactly, but
they're only children, and it's more fun for them there than
here. So even though it hurt and still does hurt, I
do what's best for them."
"A case of maternal sacrifice, then. Very
touching."
"Please don't be sarcastic, W. I happen
to be telling you the truth."
"No, Hyacinth. It's simply not true, if it
ever was. You'd better think up a new one. You
heard Emma right here in this room. They want to be
with you. Why won't you have them?"
. She was beginning to sweat. He was driving her in
circles, and she said so, protesting, "You keep
making me repeat myself. You know I work long hours,
and I have to do some traveling. I just told you that a
minute ago."
Will shook his head. "There are too many
holes in your story. This whole thing is just sp sad.
... I can't believe I'm sitting here listening
to this, or saying what I have to say. There's so
much.... Who is this man Arnie, anyhow? I
don't like his type. To hear him talk, you'd think
he was your children's father. Why these regular
dinners you have with him? And the fine presents, the mare?
Some casual present! Hardly like handing a person
a Hershey bar."
"To begin with, I didn't accept the mare. And as
long ago as when we were in Paris, I exed who he
is. Don't tell me you're making this fuss because
you're jealous of Arnie."
An instant later, she knew she had made a
mistake because he saw through her intent.
"You're trying to divert my anger by confusing the
issue, and it won't work. Yes, your so-called friend
Arnie is a part of this lie, and until you tell me
the whole thing, we can't-was
When he got up to stand at the window, she followed.
Down below, life crawled; a shrieking ambulance
snaked through traffic; like huge beasts, buses
lumbered along the curb, and walkers darted for
safety before the light should change. No one down there
knew-or would have cared, if he had
known-what was happening in this room, where her heart-and
surely Will's heart, too-was going to break. A
terrible fear ran down her . spine as if she were
lost somewhere on an ocean or in a jungle without a
path.
She could hear his breathing. And laying her head on his
shoulder, she pleaded, "I love you, W. And you
love me. Does anything else count?"
He did not move, nor did he put his arm around
her, but speaking as if into the air or to the street below
them, he replied.
"Do you remember the time I told you about my affair
with the married woman? I told you not because I
wanted you to think I'm some kind of saint, which God
knows I'm not, but because I wanted to come clean about
myself, to keep nothing of myself away, or have secrets
from you. We can't live together in a house where the
closets are locked and only one of us has the
key." And pulling away, he looked down at her,
straight down into her eyes. "Now I see why you
never talked about your children. I thought it was strange,
yet when you gave me some sort of explanation, I
accepted it. But there's too much concealed here. Even
your lie about having a fever," he said with sudden
scorn. "You wanted to make the children
happy, so you let your husband keep them. Can you
expect me to believe anything you say?"
Although he had not moved toward her, she shrank
away. She was helpless before his power, and her tongue
did not move.
"Your husband-your former husband-is a physician.
He has a respected position in the world. He
may also be a scoundrel, that's possible, but still, he
could never have claimed this advantage over you if he
hadn't known he could get away with it, that you were unable
to prevent him." Will's voice rose. "What is it
that you are not telling me, Hyacinth?"
He was ten feet tall, and his eyes were like sparks.
Still unable to speak, she had to look away.
"What is it that you are not telling me?" he
repeated.
"Nothing," she managed to murmur so low that Will
stooped to hear her. "Nothing. I've told you what
I can, and you won't believe it."
That keen ear heard every syllable. "What you 'can"?
Then there must be things that you can't."
God help me, she thought, and murmuring still, said,
"Please."
She thought that his eyes were wet now, but since her own
were blurred, she was not sure.
"Don't you see that we can't go ahead like this? That
there's no future for people who can't be honest with each
other at the start?"
She parted her lips, but no sound came.
"You won't say any more?" Will asked.
"Please," she repeated.
Stunned as if all senses had fled, she still sensed
his departure, the door's closing, and the stillness.
After a long while, she went back to the window and
looked down. Lights had come on, and the sky, like a
warm blanket, smothered the city. She wanted air.
She wanted to open the window, to let herself out into the
air and down. How many seconds would it take to reach
the street, simply to plunge into that night and feel
no more?
But then she did feel: Oh, Jerry! Oh,
Emma! And turning away from the window, she went
back to lie down alone in the darkness.
Dear Hyacinth,
This is the most painful letter I have ever had to write.
This is the saddest experience of my whole life. I
have been wondering whether it is the saddest for you, too,
and I have to conclude that it cannot be because if it were, you
would, weeks ago, have given me the only thing I
ask of you, a truthful account of your past,
I have written to you, we have spoken twice over the
telephone, and still you deny me, although I have told you
clearly that without perfect honesty, we cannot continue in
life together. Surely you must see that.
At this point, I have to give up. I have to say to you
what I dreaded to say, what I never dreamed it
possible to say, and that is: good-bye. I am trying
to find peace again for myself, and with all my heart I
wish the same for you.
Will
In a black, upright script, these few searing
sentences marched across a single page and trembled between
Hyacinth's two hands.
In her room, lit by a weak lamp, the lonely
night stretched without end through the apartment, out into the
street and the world. Light, cheer, hope, love,
sun- all of them were faded. What was left? The
children, who were in truth not really hers anymore? The
glittering "career" that, for her at least, had lost its
glitter?
"You need to work," Francine had warned. "Work is
the antidote for heartache."
She had telephoned almost daily since that night :
when Will had met the children and everything had fallen apart.
To her credit, she had asked no further
questions. Well, thought Hyacinth, she hadn't really
needed to; anyone could have predicted the course of
events. She had only offered help (but there was
none) and spoken kindly platitudes about keeping
busy. Fran- cine herself was always busy with her
projects; three scholarship college girls
lived in the house; she liked giving personal
charity; and besides, "they were good company." Francine
knew how to adjust and cope.
From Arnie, too, had come well-meant advice.
When, after a few days, she had not answered the
telephone, he had become worried, called
Francine, and learned what had happened. If
Hyacinth were not feeling so ill, she would even now be
amused by the fact that behind his consolation lay a certain
satisfaction with the disappearance of W.
It was midnight. Reminding herself that tomorrow was to be
another busy day and that she had already
skipped more than enough days' work, she laid the letter
aside and switched off the lamp.
"You don't look well," Lina said. She had
been scrutinizing Hyacinth for the past few weeks and
making these comments.
Also well meant, thought Hyacinth, like Francine's
and Arnie's comments, but also to no avail.
Unfortunately, Lina refused to let the subject
alone. "I'm truly, truly sorry, Hyacinth.
I thought you were wonderful together, a perfect match for
each other."
It was not clear whether Hyacinth was supposed
to agree or not. And Lina continued, "Fortunately,
he seldom comes here. There's really no reason
anymore for him to come, since we'll be meeting
once or twice a year at corporate
headquarters. So you won't have to see him here, which
makes it easier for you, I'm sure."
Unquestionably, she was waiting for an explanation of
events, such as who had dropped whom and why, but
since it was not forthcoming and Hyacinth's vague gaze
was directed toward the gray sky beyond the window, she
switched to practical matters.
"Do you realize that you've been mentioned in almost every
major magazine by now? And even featured in three?
Do you realize what you've accomplished?"
What good is it, thought Hyacinth. It has no
meaning. I'm ill. I have no energy.
"I'm not worth much to you right now," she said. "I've
even been thinking that you may not be wanting me any
longer."
Lina's black eyes rounded as she cried
her amazement.
"Not want you? Why, you little fool, you can go anywhere.
Anywhere! Do you know that? In one hour you could get enough
credit to walk out of here and set up your very own
business. Whenever you want to, you can."
"I would never think of doing that, Lina. Never. Why,
you're the person who gave me my start. Would I do
that to you?"
There was a sad touch to the older woman's little
smile, as she looked at Hyacinth.
"Not many people are that loyal, my dear. Not anymore.
You're from another age and another place. I
don't mean that as a disparagement, not at all. It's
a fine innocence that you have, a lovely naivete, for
all your talent."
"That's what they always say about me. I'm naive."
And Hyacinth gave a rueful laugh.
The fall days straggled like a beaten army. First
summer, not entirely finished, burned through a stifling
smog. Then came fierce autumn rains to batter
the city's very stones and bones and give further
emphasis to Hyacinth's defeat.
Now she began to work as she had never done before, all
day and half the night at home, forcing the last shred
of her unwilling energy. She worked because there
was nothing else.
One day Arnie telephoned. He had not been in
New York since the night he had met W. She
would never have expected to feel such a glow of
gratitude as the one that came with the first note of his
voice.
"Hello, Hy. I'm in town. How about dinner?
Usual place? Usual time?"
He was enthusiastic and intimate, and he wanted
to see her. Anticipation, in one instant, drew the
scene: lights, warmth, music, and a person, a
human being, who
wanted to see her.
"I'll pick you up at work, and if you feel like
doing it, we can walk uptown. Okay?"
"Very much okay. Six forty-five?"
"You work late!"
"That's nothing. That's early. We're getting the
spring showings ready."
She was sitting at her desk when Arnie arrived and
stood for a moment in the doorway, taking in the scene.
His eyebrows were raised in frank surprise. She
understood that he must not have expected such a scene: the
room, much smaller than Lina's and much more simply
furnished, must nevertheless be fairly
impressive, its desk piled high with papers and
its bulletin board tacked solidly with
photographs and clippings.
He kissed her fondly on both cheeks, then
glancing around in his usual quick way, exclaimed,
"Wow! I had no idea-but of course, I don't
know a damn thing about this business except that women
are damn fools enough to spend a fortune on a rag
to cover their backs." He laughed. "No offense
meant. If you can make a fortune out of rags, go
to it. Say, what's this? This is you."
In a newspaper clipping at the top of a pile,
he saw a style page from which half a dozen faces
smiled: an Englishman's who was making a name for
himself, a
midwestern woman's who specialized in knits,
and Hyacinth's.
"Hey, look at yourself. Those eyes, and the hair.
Damned if it doesn't look like silk."
"A silk curtain,"
Will had said. "still
love to feel it on the pillow."
"Picture doesn't do you justice, Hy.
Damned if you don't get prettier every time I
see you. What is it, some special
vitamins or something?"
"Oh, just hard work, I guess," she said, forcing a
laugh.
"And in Canada-this paper's Canadian."
"We do a lot of selling there."
"Hard to believe all this. Gee, I still see you the
day you drove up from Texas. Jerry was just out of
diapers, and you were only a kid yourself."
"Twenty-six."
"Well, that's still a kid. And you still look like one,
only better dressed." He grinned. He
marveled and made a wide gesture encompassing not
only the room, but, past the window, all the stone
towers in which lights were beginning to twinkle as far as the
Hudson and beyond. "How did you do it?"
Hyacinth shrugged, meaning,
Why
go
into all thisi
First it had been Granny, who taught her to sew
and, at her death, had shown by her life's history
how to persevere. And second was Will, who had
directed her.... Best not to think of that.
"I'm starved. How about you? Let's get moving,
if you're ready."
"I'm ready."
There could be no mistaking the season, colored as it
was in harvest's yellow and plum, fading toward the
year's end. Shop windows were decorated with blond
sprays of wheat and chrysanthemums. With half a
mind attentive to Arnie's observations and the other
half making her own observations as they walked,
Hyacinth drew pictures out of the past: first
Halloween and pumpkin faces on the doorstep; then
Thanksgiving (no turkeys on display in this part
of the city); then Christmas, red, green, and
tinsel-but look, somebody has already arrived at
Christmas with a display of stockings and glass
balls. Hastening the season, rushing time as if time
did not rush enough! How many years now? Going on
four....
And she had actually been glad of this evening! Now
if she could decently get away from Arnie and go
home alone, she would do it. But it was too late.
"Yes, you're an eyeful," he began as he
unfolded his napkin. "Let's order, and then
I'll tell you about the kids. It's hard to go
into things over the telephone."
Suddenly anxious and tense, she said quickly,
"I'll have whatever you have. I don't care
what I eat. Is there anything special about the
children? Anything different? They sometimes sound fine on
the phone, and then again I get the same comts that I
can't do anything about."
"Nothing's changed except that Arveen's gone and
there's a new friend in the house. Name's Buddy this
time."
"Buddy? A boy?"
Arnie laughed. "No, none of that. Buddy is
five foot
ten-could be a model, but she's a singer. Natural
blonde, but had a bad nose and he fixed it, and
she's in love with him. Or he says so, anyway.
Cockeyed names these dames figure out. Buddy, for
God's sake."
Lead in Hyacinth's chest seemed to drag her down
so that she sank back in a chair. So cheap, so-so
vile! Without shame before his children.
"But she's good-natured, and the kids get along with
her. So don't worry about that."
There was a moment of silence during which Arnie
thoughtfully refrained from looking at her. When he
spoke, he kept busy buttering a roll.
"As I always tell you, you mustn't think Gerald
neglects them. He's still crazy about them,
but he's too busy with-with other stuff. And you see,
they're not cute anymore. Women don't stop and
gush over Emma, or over Jerry when he still wore
gray flannel short pants, all dressed up,
you know, that kind of thing. They're getting independent,
talk back, you know, the way kids do. Not so much
fun."
She could not speak. And considerately, Arnie
prattled.
"Nothing much to tell you since I last saw you.
I've been sending Diamond to a couple of races
out of state, and he's doing well. A
gorgeous-looking horse. Got prospects.
Major, of course, I ride, lots of times
along with your kids. But you know all that. Let's
see. What else? Oh yes, I've been looking
at some land. I'm sick of living in apartments, so
I may build a house for myself. Why not?"
He was telling her that she had only to say the word.
Yet with kindly tact, he sensed her state of mind
and was not about to press her right now. And then, as if
to confirm this judgment of hers, he asked very gently the
inevitable question.
"Have you seen him since we last talked?"
There was no need for any agonizing
details, so she said simply, "It's over.
Completely. He wanted an explanation that I
couldn't give him. That's all."
Arnie whistled. "I expected it. I believe I
told you so."
"You did."
"So where are you now?"
"Here, as you see."
"No chance of starting up again?"
"How could there be? I'm not out of the woods yet. Will
I ever be?"
"To tell you the truth, Hy, one never knows. Of
course, the more time goes by, the better. Yet you
read the papers, you see how stuff is found out years
after the event. And this isn't even four years yet."
"I know. It was a silly question."
"I'm sorry. Fd like to see you get past all your
troubles. I hate to see you so hurt. If I could
take the hurt away, I'd move a mountain to do
it."
Quite moved, she said only, "My mother calls you a
prince, and I guess I have to agree."
"How is your mother? How's she doing?"
"She's as busy as any two people could be. Also,
she's just met a very nice man, and I'm
glad about that, so I don't see much of her. But we
will be going down to Florida together for Thanksgiving with
Jerry and Emma. Why-what's the matter?"
Arnie's face had clouded. "I wanted to let you
enjoy your dinner before telling you. Gerald is taking
them on somebody's yacht for Thanksgiving weekend,
and he's taking them someplace else over Christmas
and New Year's. Acapulco, I think."
Hyacinth's fork clattered on the plate. "I
don't believe it!" she cried. "He can't do that."
"I'm afraid he can. I've tried to talk him out
of it, but he's made his plans already. You'll have the
February school vacation, he says, and that's a
promise."
"His promises! A beggar at a table, that's
what I am, waiting for crumbs! And what if he
says "No crumbs today, lady, there's nothing
left for you"? What then?"
"Hush, Hy. That won't happen," Arnie
whispered, for in her outrage, her voice had risen.
"Oh, can you guarantee that?"
"I never guarantee anything. But I don't
believe he will. He never has, has he?"
"Not good enough," she said.
"Eat something, Hy. You haven't touched a
forkful," Arnie reproved, for the fork still lay on her
plate. And when she still did not touch it, he turned
jovial. "You need food. Men don't like
skeletons."
"Men!" she cried bitterly.
"You're scared to death and you're angry, aren't you?
And no wonder. I know this is lousy, but what can you
do? Gerald's probably already sorry about this, but
he won't admit it. So take the ten days in
February. Come on down, and you'll have a great
time."
Arnie's smile was meant to be encouraging, and his
eyes were almost pleading with her. He was comfort and
warmth. Most of all, he was
there.
And that being so, Hyacinth owed him a bit of cooperation
by way of thanks.
"All right. I'll settle for February. I
suppose there's no sense banging my head against a
stone wall, is there?

"Ah well, Hy, you have to look at it that way. It
just wasn't meant to be. And you're going to be just
fine."
It was one thing to take valiant resolve,
and quite another to hold that resolve; through days of work,
one had to be alert and quick to smile, but at home
alone the visions crowded, the past full of
mistakes, the present full of confusions, and the
future unfathomable, all merged into a kind of
steaming brew.
And one night before Thanksgiving, which Hyacinth was
to spend, and did not want to spend, with Una's
glittering guests at her splendid East Side
house, she lost her resolve. Francine had
wanted her to go along out west to visit the family
there, but since even Lina's party would be preferable
to that, Francine was going by herself. Flying from New
York, she was to spend tonight with Hyacinth;
inevitably their talk would be about Gerald, the
cruelty, the outrage, the mystery, and the usual:
Why in heaven's name will you not tell me what this is
about?
It was too much. And springing up from her chair so
abruptly that she almost tipped it over, she ran to the
telephone and called Gerald's number.
"Yes, it's who you think it is," she cried.
"What are you doing to me? Does it make you happy
to torment me? Do you know you're a devil?"
There came the voice, the rich, melodious
voice that had once enthralled her. "A devil?
I don't know about that. Isn't it a matter of
opinion?"
Smooth, he was, and ever so slightly amused
besides. If he had been in the room now, she would have
struck him.
"Does it makes you happy to keep my children away
from me? They're mine, do you hear? It's I who
gave them birth. I nursed them, and you-you-was She was
unable to finish.
Gerald's deep sigh came over the wire. She
knew it well; it represented exasperation and
sophisticated patience.
"You are, as I've said many times, Hyacinth, an
overemotional woman, given to hysteria. I do not
keep the children away from you. You have nothing to com about.
You say I torment you. Why? Because of a change in
vacation plans?"
"That's not the whole of it. Not nearly. Those disgusting
women you have-was
"Disgusting? Who tells you that?"
She had no intention of betraying Arnie, her
benefactor, her lifeline. "Emma and Jerry,"
she said, "mostly Jerry. Do you know, does anyone
know or care, that he watches
pornography on cable television late at
night? Did you know that?"
"No, I didn't, and I'll certainly look
into it. You might remember that I have a busy
practice and I can't be everywhere at once."
"I'm busy, too, and I-was
He interrupted. "I've heard about your success,
and I'm impressed, but-was
She interrupted. "Success or not, I would
manage to watch my children. That's why they belong with
me."
"The children aren't suffering, Hyacinth. They're healthy
and cared for. Take a look. Anybody can see
it."
"They are suffering, Gerald. They are. They want
to live with their mother, as most children do."
"Well, these children can't, and there's no sense in going
all over that again. You signed something voluntarily,
the price you paid for my silence." Now the mellow
voice turned harsh. "You should be grateful, because I
didn't have to do it that way. I didn't have to return
the evidence to you after I found it on the lawn."
"What kind of a world is this where there's no forgiveness
and no understanding?" she screamed. "There should be some
way, some human being who can get at you-was
He did not allow her to finish, but thrusting his words
upon her with a force almost physical, retorted, was
"Get at me"? Just try to take legal means.
You know what'll happen to you."
Who of them hung up first, Hyacinth did not know.
She knew only that her head was bursting with a rage so
anguished that she might have been close to a stroke.
In a flood of tears, she threw herself down upon
die bed.
When, hours later the doorbell rang, she was still
ly bar from ing there, quiet now and exhausted. Only
when the ringing persisted did she remember that
Francine was
coming to spend the night. And getting up, she stumbled
to the door.
There stood her mother, trim in a proper travel
suit with her neat suitcase in hand and a look of
absolute horror.
"What in the name of God is the matter?" she
cried.
"It's nothing. I've been crying."
"I can see that, can't I? What's happened?
Look at yourself!"
Out of the mirror in the hall there stared a sorry,
pale face between straggled ropes of
ink-black hair.
"I talked to Gerald just now," she said.
"Well? Well, what?"
M
I want my children, and he won't listen to me." She
was too tired to speak. "That's all there is.
Please don't ask me any more. You know it all,
anyway."
Francine went into her usual room, where in her
tidy fashion she removed her jacket and arranged
her few possessions for the night. When she
reappeared a few minutes later, Hyacinth had
lain down on the sofa and was staring at the ceiling.
Francine sat down nearby and with troubled eyes
regarded her daughter.
"Of course there's no use in asking you for the thousandth
time to ex this to me."
Hyacinth looked up into the troubled eyes. The pity
in them brought a fresh surge of tears. If Emma
were feeling the pain that I am feeling now, she thought,
it would be unbearable for me. What would I not do
to take my daughter's pain away? And here my mother
is begging me with her pity.
But no, it is impossible.. . .
Francine inquired, "Does anything
hurt you beside your heartache?"
"My head. It feels twice its size."
"That's tension. Sit up a little, and let me rub
your neck."
The fingers were cool and strong. And as they soothed,
queer thoughts passed through Hyacinth's sick head:
She used to annoy me, she was not serious enough, she
said foolish things, I loved Granny much more than
I loved her, she must have known it, she did know it,
and she forgave it. I was arrogant and young for my
age. She is the only one who foresaw what
Gerald would finally do. No, not finally. Not all of
it.
"Just try to take legal action. You know tvhat'll
happen to you."
Felony-murder, second degree.
Tears slid down her cheeks and under her collar.
"Oh, what is it?" cried Francine. "I can't
bear this anymore. Do you hear me? I can't."
And Hyacinth heard her. Lying back on the
pillow, she closed her eyes and whispered.
"Don't look at me. Just listen."
It was almost midnight, and they were still sitting up.
Francine, with a ghastly face, was staring at the
wall.
"Now I feel better, but you feel worse," said
Hyacinth.
"That's true. I would feel better if I could
think of something to do, but I can't seem to think of
anything."
"Because there is nothing."
"You couldn't tell Will," Francine murmured, as
if thinking aloud.
"And bring as my dowry," Hyacinth said in mockery,
"a threat hanging over my head? Don't you see?"
"Yes .. ., was Francine said reluctantly.
"Yes, even if he were willing, no man, lover
or not, no man with any brain, no man you'd
want, would undertake it. Yes, I see."
And then, after a silence, she said suddenly, "No
man except Arnie. Do you realize how
exceptional he is?"
"Of course I do. I always tell him how
grateful I am."
"He wants more than gratitude."
"I know that, too."
"Is there no chance for him?"
Hyacinth smiled sadly. "You want to see your
daughter securely settled, and I understand. It's
only natural."
"So you're still thinking of Will?"
Thinking? Remembering. Longing. In an elevator
the other day, I heard his voice, and I didn't
dare turn around until I saw that it wasn't him.
Every time the telephone rings, my hand trembles when I
pick it up, although I know it won't be W.
"I'm sorry, Hyacinth. You need some peace."
"I need some sleep. Right now I want to go
to bed."
Whether for good or ill, she had spoken; she had
revealed everything to Francine, and now it was too
late to take anything back. Like an incoming wave,
a tremendous tiredness swept over her.
At the lunch table on the hotel's terrace,
Hyacinth, looking about at her family, saw new
light in their faces. These few days of
Florida-sunshine together had been like medicine.
The wait for February had been daunting, as each
succeeding day seemed longer than the one before it. The
children had been waiting for her, too. They had clung
to her and again, to her despair, had been asking when she
was going to take them back with her.
But at this particular moment, all was well. Emma
was fascinated by the charms on Francine's
bracelet. Jerry was talking baseball
with Arnie, who had come this noon to join them at
lunch; his loud, authoritative manner was amusing
Arnie.
Happiness is only an atmosphere created by your
mind, she thought. This grass is brilliant; this
sky is as blue as a robin's egg; the fruit on
the platter shines like porcelain; and all the laughter
ripples. When she caught
Francine's glance, it told her that a day like this was
worth ten times more than the trip to London that
Fran- cine had given up for this visit to her
grandchildren.
There were only two more days before school would start here,
and the spring collection would call Hyacinth back
to work But she must not think of that. Think, rather, of the here and
now. At long last she had begun some riding
lessons, which had delighted her children. They had all
played ball on the beach, had gone deep-sea
fishing, swum in the pool, eaten enormous meals,
and not wasted a minute.
"What are we doing this afternoon?" asked Jerry. "Are
you going riding with us, Mom?"
Hyacinth was about to say yes, when Arnie spoke.
"I was going to ask you to do me a little favor, Hy.
Maybe sometime today while the folks here go
out to the stables, you would spare a couple of hours to go
along while I look for some property that's for
sale? Maybe give your opinion? Would you mind?"
"I don't know the first thing about real estate," she
replied.
"I'll take my chances on that. You've never seen
this part of the state before. It'll be interesting. No
beaches and no tourists."
It did not need a detective to see that something more
personal than real estate was on Arnie's mind.
There was no mistaking what it was. Francine's
expressive eyebrows had risen in pleased
surprise, and there was no mistaking that, either.
"I want to come, too," cried Emma.
"Not today, dear. Some other day," Arnie said.
His gentle tone, along with the child's ready accep- .
tance of his direction, affected Hyacinth. He
really was fatherly, no doubt of it. It was a pity that
he had never had children.
"Let me run upstairs to get a hat and my
sunglasses, Arnie, and I'll be with you," she
said.
To anyone accustomed to packed commercial highways
or to royal palms on a pastel oceanfront, the
landscape was unrecognizable. Flat as a
tabletop lay the fields on which the sugarcane
grew; there was not a tree in sight and in the hot
aic, no breeze stirred. Irrigation canals at
intervals cut through the fields, and at longer
intervals, wherever roads met, a shabby, unpainted
hamlet would cluster around a filling station and a
soft-drink stand.
Arnie was being instructive. "These fields go on for
miles. This is one of the largest cane areas in the
country. I'll bet you didn't know that."
These remarks were so unlike him, who rarely spoke
in general terms, that Hyacinth wondered how long it
would take for him to get to the reason for this rather aimless
expedition. It did not take very much longer because, at
sight of a soft-drink stand, he stopped the car.
"I could use a Coke. How about you?"
"Yes, thanks."
The owner of the stand, having accepted his pay, went
into his house and slammed the door, leaving them to stand
beneath his single sparse tree drinking the Cokes in a
total silence. Hyacinth's tingling nerves caused
her to break it by saying something, anything. "You surely
aren't looking at any properties out here, are you,
Arnie?"
"No. I only wanted to get away with you
where there was nobody and nothing."
He was looking not at her but away down the vacant
black tar road. Free then to look intently at
him, she did so. What she saw was the same
familiar figure, dapper and confident. Yet at
this moment, there was something else; perhaps it was his stance,
or the pose of his head, that brought to her mind with a
shock that evening at the hotel where the bed, turned
down for the night, was on view beyond the door.
Suddenly he turned and spoke. "I've been
waiting for you, for the time when you'd be ready. I
hoped-I was pretty sure I wouldn't have to wait
too much longer. So how about it, Hy? We aren't
gonna live forever." Andwitha strangely
old-fashioned gesture, taking hold of both her
hands, he made his appeal. "Marry me, Hy.
I've wanted you almost from the time I first saw you."
She was helpless, held by his hands and by his eyes,
which were glistening with emotion.
"You'll be safe and loved. I'll give my part
of the practice to Gerald in return for that paper you
signed. He'll take it. It's worth a
fortune."
"You'd actually give it to him, Arnie? That
doesn't make any sense."
"Why not? I'm very well fixed. Plenty of great
real estate and plenty of ready cash, too. I can
retire, take you and the kids anyplace in the world.
You just name the place."
"I didn't-didn't expect-
w
she began.
"Yes, you did, Hy. Don't play with me. You
knew I'd be asking you soon. Listen to me: Could
it be any nicer? These few days-why, we've been
like a family, you, and the kids, and even your mother.
Ask her what she thinks of me, especially now that
you've told her the whole story. She'll be the first
to say, "Go to it, take the guy." I know she will.
"He's smart, he's not bad-looking," she'll
tell you; "he's good to your kids, and he's crazy
about you. What more do you want?"' his
His questions pounded her. His hands still gripped her, and he
kept on pounding.
"I'm no womanizer like Gerald. You know that.
You'll be able to count on me. You'll have a steady
life instead of running around trying to make yourself
fall in love with some man who'll only bring you the
same problem you had with that fellow W."
Releasing her hands, he put his arms around
her, and as if he sensed that she was not ready for anything
more, he kissed her forehead and her cheeks with great
tenderness.
"I'd really like to set us up in France. You love
France, and you'd be out of harm's way over there with the
children if anything should turn up."
"Turn up? Oh, God. Is this to go on forever?"
"You can never be sure, Hy. We've talked about that
often enough, haven't we?"
The chronic fear was weakening her legs so that she
BC-EDED to sit down. "I want to get back into the
car," she said. "I don't fee) weil."
Alarmed at once, Arnie opened the car door and
helped her in. "We'll head right back. Oh,
I'm sorry, I
didn't mean to upset you. Are you all right? Are you
sure?"
"It's a headache, a thunderclap-so much all at
once, this whole lovely week, and now these thoughts
starting up again."
"Lay your head back," Arnie commanded. "We
won't talk. You'll be all right. I'll take the
short way this time."
She gave him a faint smile. "So there is a
shorter way?"
He smiled in return. "Of course. I was making
the trip last as long as I could."
Her nerves, unstrung, were quivering. Peeking through
eyelids almost closed, she observed him, a robust
and muscular man appearing much younger than his years;
his face, in the coppery afternoon glow, was Indian tan
against the silvery crest of his hair. If she were
to move any closer to him, she would smelt his pine
lotion. He was supremely fastidious.
In one week, he could find a dozen desirable
women who would want him. And he wanted her. He
would be good to her. ...
To go away somewhere and have her children all to herself again!
Wouldn't any woman in her position-if there ever was
any other woman in this crazy position- accept him
in a minute? Francine the practical, the
almost-always-right, would approve on the principle that in
this world you cannot have everything....
"We're here," he said as the car stopped at the
hotel. And he went around to her side to open the
door.
Palms soared above her head. The breeze was fra-
grant, and from somewhere came a tinkle of music,
leaving a rich sense of expectation as it passed.
"You slept," said Arnie. "A
psychologist would say that you were escaping a
decision."
He was, of course, also supremely
intelligent, which had been obvious from the beginning.
"How long shall I wait for the decision, Hy?"
She heard herself replying, "Emma and Jerry have
to finish this semester."
He nodded. "That's only a couple of months
away. Understood."
This time his kiss was full on her mouth. When he
let her go, his eyes were happy.
Upstairs in the room, she opened a door and
stepped out onto the balcony, where a pair of
lounge chairs faced the ocean. Again the weakness
overcame her, and she fell into one of the chairs. She
was ill, but the fact that the illness was obviously
psychosomatic was of no help at all. So she
lay still and blanked out her mind.
After a while, when her mind came back to life,
she began to reconstruct exactly what had
happened during these last few hours. She had
actually allowed his embrace! Yet could she, should
she, have pushed him away? She had said something about the
end of the school term. Had she given him any
promise? AH was a whirl and tumble in
her head: her children, the fear, the threat, the
responsibility of her job, Arnie's
promises, and again, the children.
She stood up and gazed out over the railing. High
up
here the wind rushed through silence. From this height, the
ocean lay as if no wind disturbed its flat
calm, but if you were down there below, you would see the great
green swells and hear them crash as they broke
onto the land. For a long time she stood there, her hands
gripping the railing, just gazing and sensing the vastness of the
sea.
Once on a night not very long ago, two people had
lain in a hammock watching the dark waves until
the moon came up and turned everything white. They
say you forget-but when? When you're ninety, maybe,
and past wanting anything? I hurt him, she thought.
I've hurt W. It would have been better for both of
us if we had never lain in that hammock, or if we
had never met.
It would have been better, too, if I had not let
Arnie leave today with the wrong impression. He has
given so much of himself to me; it's true that I never
asked for that gift, but neither did I refuse it, and
I'm sorry. Still, I can't pretend
love, even to purchase peace, even if a part of
me is tempted. No, I can never do that. And I will
not.
Dear God, isn't there any way to straighten out this
life of mine?
"Handsome children," remarked the man on the neighboring
bench.
An elderly man with a pleasant manner, he had
been watching Francine as she took a picture of
Jerry and Emma, and he was watching them now as they
walked away toward the stables.
"I think so, but of course I would think so. I'm
their grandmother."
"I come out here a couple of times a week, and I
often see them-. They both do well on
horseback. Very well, I should say."
"They're excited about the show on the fairgrounds
next month. That's why they wanted to try out their
new outfits today, new velvet caps, new
boots, the works. For dressage, they told me, not
that I know anything about it."
"Dressage is a parade around the ring, and a
beautiful sight it is. My wife's going to be in
the show, too. In fact, she's here now, rehearsing.
But I had to drop out on account of this
broken leg."
Only now did Francine observe the crutch
propped against the bench,
"Oh, too bad," she said, murmuring sympathy.
"Well, it's a lot easier for a man to break a
leg than for a horse to do it. They're delicate
creatures, horses, although you might not think so when
you're standing next to a stallion sixteen hands
tall."
"I guess not," said Francine, murmuring again but
this time reluctantly, because the man seemed to be
prepared for a conversation that for all she knew might
last another hour until Jerry's and Emma's
return.
So she picked up her book, but not quickly enough, because
a question was thrust at her: "Have you heard about
Diamond?"
"Diamond?"
"The horse. The famous Diamond. Or was
famous, but now he's dead, poor fellow. He
stumbled over a gopher hole and broke his leg.
Had to be put down. They
were all disshotked here yesterday. The owner boards him
here sometimes between shows and races, and everybody was
glad that the accident did not happen on these
premises."
"Oh, you don't mean Arnie-Dr. Ritter's
horse?"
"I'm afraid I do. Arnie-Dr. Ritter-was
always a good judge of horseflesh. We used
to ride together years ago in Texas. It's amazing!
When I saw him here yesterday, he hadn't changed
a day's worth since then."
"I'm awfully sorry. But he never said a word about
it to me."
"I guess he was too upset yesterday to talk
anymore. Well, I see you want to read your
book, and Fll go back to my paper, learn what's
going on in the world."
The afternoon ticked by as a hand moves around a clock,
always too slowly when one is in a hurry and tense
with waiting for a crucial decision. She could not stop
worrying about Hyacinth's country ride with Arnie.
And yet was there really so much to wonder and worry about?
For the children's sake, if for no other reason,
Hyacinth would surely do the sensible thing.
After a while, Francine got up and walked to the
field, where a small class was practicing.
"Handsome children,"
that man had said, and indeed they were: Emma
with the fat, shining braids and shining eyes under the
velvet cap, Jerry already alert and prideful like the
man he would become. They're so much older than they
were only a few months ago, she thought. It's come
about suddenly, as when you look at a plant, noting
that yesterday it didn't reach the windowsill, and today it
does.
For obvious reasons, even though she loved all her
grandchildren equally, these two held a particular place
in her heart. Always she had the sense that they felt
abandoned. They clung so much to many small,
far-back memories. Jerry still knew the
telephone number at their old house. Last
summer at her house they both remembered,
despite the fact that the strawberry patch was now
overrun with wild grass, exactly when and where they
had picked strawberries long ago with Jim.
Yes, it was a good thing that Hyacinth was doing at
last.
She needs peace and protection, Francme thought.
I don't know how she has managed to stand up under
all her burdens, the guilt over that poor man's
awful death, and the loss of Will-for which you can't blame
him, you reany can't-and of course, most of all, the
children.
But now they can be with their mother. Fm sure Arnie will
see to that. I am still not over the shock, if I ever do
get over it, of what Gerald did to her. And I
finally do see why she kept it from me for so long: It
was too hard and too terrible to put into words. She was
terrified. But Arnie understands, and he will be good
to her. They will all be safe with him.
In Hyacinth's ears, the airplane engines
thrummed and throbbed. Across the aisle a woman with a
maddening whine had been talking for the last half-hour,
while during that half-hour Francine had not spoken
a word. She had already said enough to make herself quite clear.
Now she was simply staring out into blue space.
Then suddenly she turned to Hyacinth. "You're a
responsible person, and this is your life. I
don't want to nag you, but I'll try once more.
I don't enjoy throwing
things up to you, but I have to do it. You're making a
mistake. You didn't listen to me about Gerald, and
now again you're not listening to me. I don't know what
more I can say to convince you."
"And I don't know what else I can say to make
you understand how I feel," Hyacinth said gently.
"I'm just so sorry about everything. Sorry for you and the
children and, believe it or not, for Arnie. Between
you and the horse, I'd say he must have had quite a
week."
"The horse? What horse?"
"His prize. Diamond. His racer."
"What happened?"
"It had a broken leg and had to be put down.
It's dead. There was a man at the stable yesterday who
told me about it. Arnie was really broken up,
too."
"But he never said a thing to me! How did this man
know?"
"He saw Arnie yesterday. They knew each other
anyway, years ago, in Texas. He even said
Arnie hadn't changed a bit."
"Well, Fm sorry. I'll phone tonight."
Francine made a tight mouth. "It's very nice
to sympathize with him about the horse, but what about the
other business?"
"That's not something to talk about over the phone. He'll
be in New York in a month or two, and then
I'll tell him as kindly as I can. I'll always
be very, very fond of him, I'll be his friend, but I
can't-oh, you know."
"Yes, yes, I know."
Her mother was disappointed and even disgusted
by what to her was a stubborn resistance. It's a sad
thing to
feel your mother's anger, thought Hyacinth, especially
when you have a mother like Francine. When I think of how
I misjudged her when I was young! She was so right about
so many things. . . . It's hard to disappoint her again
now. Yet it can't be helped.
They traveled the rest of the way in a silence,
broken only by an occasional neutral, necessary
remark. In the taxi from the airport, Francine
asked to be let out at Grand Central Station.
Hyacinth had expected her to stay overnight before
going home, but she preferred to leave then, so they
kissed quickly and parted.
Francine was angry.
The telephone rang just as Hyacinth walked in at
her door. When she picked it up, the familiar,
enthusiastic voice rang out.
"It's me, Arnie. Just wanted to make sure you
folks landed safely."
"Yes, we're fine. It was a lovely week. But
Francine told me something sad about your
Diamond. Why didn't you tell us? You never said
a word."
"Didn't want to spoil the party.
What's the use of doing that?"
"Well, it's an awful pity. That horse was your
pride and joy."
"I can't say it doesn't hurt. That was some
gorgeous animal. Happened in Kentucky. I'm
glad I wasn't there to see it. He had a
ruptured intestine. Blew up like a balloon, they
told me."
"Oh! Francine heard it was a broken leg, a
bad break."
"Who told her that?"
"Some man out at the stables. Somebody from who's known
you for years."
"Who was he?"
"I don't know his name. I don't think Francine
knows it, either."
"I can't imagine who it could have been, shooting his
mouth off about my horse when he doesn't know a
damn thing about it. Well, enough of that. What's done
is done. I'll tell you what's on my mind. I
had a brainstorm last night. You know what? The
kids only have a few more weeks in the term. What
are we waiting for? We've waited long enough, you and
I. How about packing a couple of trunks and going?
The kids can make up their work, and besides,
they'll love it. Seeing the world-it's more educational
than a few weeks in school. I'll send you a
stack of travel brochures. In fact, I'll
send them by express mail tomorrow. You pick the
place, anywhere at all. You pick."
Hyacinth's heart sank. This nonsense was
exasperating, so late in the evening and after a long
flight. But forcing good humor, she replied, "I
can't get over how
i
fast you move. Slow down a bit, will you?"
"Why should we? Nobody lives forever, Hy. So
once my mind is made up, I get moving.
That's the way I am."
The emotional traffic, she thought, is becoming
congested. Better glide out of it quickly onto a
side street And sounding a long sigh, she said that she
could hardly keep Vier eyes open.
"Somehow this flight wore me out, so I can't
straight, Arnie. I feel like going straight
to bed."
"Well, you go right to bed. I wish I was in it with you.
I'd show you a thing or two."
All of a sudden, these words distressed her more than she
had ever imagined possible. The reality of
being in bed every night with Arnie was truly shocking.
Had she ever
truly
considered it for more than an instant?
No, not
truly.
No.
The fact was that, far from being unable to keep her eyes
open, she was unable to close them and sleep. She could
scarcely describe the sensation that was keeping her
awake. Something was bothering her. She was at the same
time flustered and very vaguely uneasy.
Arnie was-he was
different
tonight. This rush and tension were so unlike the easygoing
person she knew. Naturally, he must be thinking about
his proposal to her and the inevitable changes it would
bring to his life. Yet since he had not yet been
told that she was going to refuse him, he should in theory
be in calm good spirits, shouldn't he?
So when, on the following day, she came home from work
to find him waiting for her in the lobby, she was not
totally astonished.
Greeting her with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek,
he exed, "I couldn't sleep last night
after our talk. It just didn't get anywhere. I
kept thinking, feeling, that we're floundering. You
keep pulling away from anything . definite. Or
am I wrong? Stop me if I am."
"Come vipstaiis, and kt's stiaightetv out the
Confusion."
This reply sounded braver than Hyacinth felt. And
she thought of her father, who would go far to avoid an
argument. Unfortunately there was at the moment no
place to go.
They sat down in two chairs near a window, with
Arnie's flowery plant in its rather gorgeous
porcelain tub between them.
He remarked on it. "Nice, hey? I've
learned a thing about taste from watching you, Hy. Was a
time when I thought anything was top stuff if it was
expensive. Now I know that expensive isn't
enough. This pot's an old piece, you know. Did
I tell you?"
"No, but I could see that it was. It's very
lovely. I've enjoyed it."
A feeling of pity crept over her, simply because
he felt it necessary to remind her that his gift was
expensive. Besides, he did not look like himself; for the
first time, he looked his age or perhaps even
older.
He caught her glance and smiled. Apparently
during the brief ride up in the elevator, he had
rethought his approach, for making no mention of any
concern, he drew some folders from his pocket and handed
them to her.
"A picture is worth a thousand words, right?
Take a look at these. There's France, of
course, also Tuscany, not far from Florence, with a
load of art museums for you, and I've got more on
the way, places in the Cotswolds, lots of
atmosphere with thatched roofs, kind of stuff you'd go
for. Take a look at these."
As she leafed through pictures of sumptuous
villas, of terraced gardens, statues,
balustrades, and carved ceiling beams, her spirits
sank at the thought of the coming struggle. Arnie was going
to be a tough adversary.
"See this that I marked in red? A plus? It's a
French beauty. For rent furnished, with an option
to buy, and we can move in tomorrow. And it's in the
neighborhood of a first-rate riding school.
Miles of trails through the forest."
She needed to collect herself. And for lack, at the
moment, of anything else to say, she
faltered. "These-these palaces-cost a fortune-a
country place for an aristocrat-was
"Oh baloney, Hy! I can buy and sell half
of your aristocrats! Stop worrying about money, will
you? I guess I know what I'm doing."
"I know but, Arnie, I never agreed to all this. I
never really promised anything. You're taking too
much for granted, making these plans. I even told
you that Emma and Jerry have school."
As if a hand had swept it away, the light went out
of his face. Once before, at the door into a hotel
bedroom, she had seen that hard look and those narrowed
eyes.
"There are some weeks of school, I know that. But
I'm talking about years, Hy. What are you talking
about?"
She took the bold step. There was no choice.
"Years as your friend, Arnie. As long as either one of
us lives, a dear, dear friend."
Abruptly he stood. His hands in his pockets
caused a furious jingle of coins, after which he took
one hand out and pounded a table with a fury that caused a
heap of magazines to slide to the floor.
"Damn it! I'm not playing games! What the
hell do you mean? You promised, you said not
four days ago in Florida-was
"I promised nothing, Arnie! Don't put words
in my mouth!"
"When I took you back to the hotel and kissed you
there in the driveway, you damn well did!"
"I know you kissed me. What should I have done?
Pushed you away?"
"There are names for a woman who leads a man on and
then dumps him. You want to hear them?"
"No, I do not. I never led you on, Arnie. I
was very confused that day. You rushed me. I was-I am
very fond of you. Perhaps I should have made it more clear that
fondness is not deep love. If I didn't
make it clear then, I'm sorry. I
apologize. But I never promised anything, no
matter how often you hinted."
"What a bitch you are! After all I've done for
you!" he cried, waving his hand to indicate the apartment.
"You knew how I feel about you. Your mother knew.
And this is my thanks, is it?"
"I have thanked you a thousand times, Arnie. Nobody
could be more grateful than I am."
"Then show it! Am I so hard to take?" His voice
rose. "Am I?"
"Not at all. But marriage is something
else."
"Something else, is it? Sure. I get it. I'm
not your high- flown friend who romanced you all over
France, am I? I don't quite fit in, do I?
Do I? Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Don't shout at me, Arnie. I don't like it,
and I won't stand for your temper. There's no reason
to act like this."
"Oh my, oh my! You've done a helluva lot
more than shout when you're in a temper. Smashing
computers, set
ting fires-but that's okay, isn't it? Now you're a
big success, aren't you? But don't let it go to your
head. You're hardly in a position to be so
independent, and don't forget it."
She was appalled and shaken. At the same time, her
native temper, so rarely used and so hot when
used, rose to the surface.
"This is my home. I paid you back for what you put
into it, and now I'm ordering you out of it. Get out,
Arnie." She opened the door. "And when you're in a
better mood, you're welcome back."
At that moment the elevator stopped. Three people got
out and glanced toward Arnie and Hyacinth. Taking
advantage of their presence, she closed the
door, shutting him out in the hall. Then bolting the
door, she stood waiting for him either to take the
elevator or to pound on the door.
When all was quiet, she collapsed into a chair and
began to calm herself. Her fear, she decided at
last, was unfounded. The implied threat of betrayal
was really nothing to worry about; Arnie, no matter
how angry he was at hei; would never hurt Emma
and Jerry in that way. Of that she was certain. Yet
something was terribly wrong.
He was a highly intelligent man, and he knew quite
as well as she did that all through these years she had
never in any way led him on. Why, then, was he so
agitated? "Why in such a hurry to go away? Was
he having some , tort of breakdown?
After a while, she got up and went to bed, her
fe-thoughts still roiling in her head. That odd business
about the horse kept bothering her. An intestinal
obstruction, he had said. Or rupture, or
infection, something like that. But Francine, though, had
said it was a broken leg, and they'd had to "put him
down." Fancy words for a bullet, most likely.
She sat up, pounded the pillow into a better shape,
and rolled to her other side, wanting to sleep.
Still far from sleep, her thoughts nagged.
Arnie had said one thing, and Francine said that that man
had said another; so why the discrepancy? One of them
was either making a very odd mistake or else not
telling the truth. But why?
That horse meant so much to him. But he had talked
about sugarcane all afternoon and never even mentioned its
death. Also, later on, he said he couldn't imagine
who the man was who had talked to Francine. Yet
he must have talked to him, else why would the man say
Arnie hadn't changed?
In the morning she awoke with a need, almost
compulsive, to question Francine. Telling herself again that
her behavior was probably eccentric, she nevertheless
made the call to ask Francine's opinion of the
man whom she had seen at the stable.
"The one who told you about Diamond's broken
leg. Was there anything strange about him?"
"Strange? No. He and his wife, whom I met
later, were perfectly ordinary, solid,
conservative people. Why do you ask?"
"I only wondered.. .. Did he definitely
say that Arnie's horse had a broken leg?"
"Yes." Francine was becoming impatient. "He
caught his foot in a gopher hole, I told you."
"Did you get the impression that he was
hiding anything?"
"Not at all. What should he hide? What's this
about?"
Having no proper answer to give, Hyacinth made
an excuse, hung up, and in spite of being late
this morning sat on at the telephone for several
minutes as if she were trying to assemble the scattered
pieces of a disturbing puzzle. The trouble was that there
were not enough pieces to work with.
Yet the longer she sat there, the stronger grew her
conviction that something was very definitely wrong.
Granny would say, "I feel it in my bones."
On the third day after these events the feeling grew
even. stronger, for returning home toward midnight
after a long day at work and a late dinner with Lina,
she found five messages on the answering machine.
They were all from Arnie.
"I'm terribly sorry, Hy. I said things I
didn't mean.
Yo"
know me better than that
-"
"Sometimes in a business deal, you come up against a
tough character who wants to upset the can and dump all the
apples on the street
-"
"still
was all worked up and took out my temper on you
-
God, I only want the best for you, so can't you
pleast-was
"Catt me, no matter what time you get home
-"
She was torn. A part of her dreaded an emotional
appeal, an apology, a long explanation, and
another description of another lavish European
retreat. There was no point in any of it; her
answer stood as it had been . given. But the other
part of her heart reminded her of the many calls-how many
hundreds of them?-that she had made to him about Emma
and Jerry, besides those he himself had made to soothe her
worry. She went to the telephone.
"Hy, I want you to reconsider; Come away with
me. I can't go into all the details now, so just
believe me. I've never failed either you or the
kids, have I? Have I?"
"No, Arnie, you haven't."
"Well, then listen to me. I can fly back up there
again in the morning and straighten this out in your mind. The
telephone's no good. You'll never
regret it." His voice shook. "Okay, Hy?
Listen, you can do your work, you can design wherever you
live, if that's what's worrying you. Listen,
I'll be there tomorrow."
"Arnie, I can't!" she cried. "I'm going
to Texas for a couple of showings." This was the truth.
"I'm not sure yet how long I'll need to be
there." This was not the truth. She was fearful, without knowing
why, except perhaps that she merely needed time
to prepare herself for a stormy session.
"Good God!" Arnie groaned. "Haven't you any
idea when you'll be back?"
"A week or so, I guess. I'll call you as
soon as I am."
So it stood. All through the five days in Texas,
where in artless joy her adult life had really
begun, Arnie accompanied her, a heavy weight
at the back of her mind.
And home again, after two days, she was still steeling herself
to call him. Tonight for sure, she promised. Just
grit your teeth and do it, Hyacinth.
If she had not happened to catch a glimpse of Will
Miller coming out of a seafood restaurant with two
other men at lunchtime, the course of events would have
been very different. She barely saw any more
than his back as he walked away, but there was no
mistaking him. He had probably had fish chowder,
she thought irrelevantly; it would have to be very hot, with
toast on the side.
She had intended to do an errand before returning to work, but
the unexpected sight of Will, whom she had not seen
since August, was more disconcerting than she had thought
it could be, and she turned back to Libretti's
instead. There at her too-splendid desk, she sat
with her drawing board propped against a pile of
books, a pencil in band, and not an idea in her
head. In one instant, all her vivid images had
flown; the plans that had been taking shape while she
was in Florida were gone. In their place were nameless
dread and a need to tell somebody about it, somebody who
would understand. And again she had a sensation that had come to her
only a few times during the crises in her
life-such as that moment when Gerald had demanded the
abortion-a fear of being without direction. An hour
passed, and still she sat holding a pencil. Between the
battle with Arnie and the sight of Will, she was lost,
back on that street in the city conwhere nobody spoke
her language.
[-
And yet there was one person who spoke it
well, or had once done so.... Truly the thought
was bizarre!
L
Still, had it not also been bizarre to take the
suitcase full of her samples to that grand
Madison Avenue shop a few years ago? She,
a mere nobody of a student? The worst they can do is
to ask me politely to leave, she had argued with
herself. So she argued now.
It must have been well into the second hour before, without
actually willing to do it, Hyacinth sprang out of the
chair. Before a long mirror in the lavatory, she
took a careful look at the dark blue dress, the
small lace scarf at the neck, and the pearls that
appeared when her hair fell away from her ears.
She had no wish to charm, for that was out of the question; she
knew that well and was only concerned with being dignified
and in control. This whole business made no sense.
Nevertheless, perhaps it did. And she was about to do it.
She stood smiling before him. When Will gave her no
answering smile, she understood what she ought to have
known, that her smile was an embarrassment and only a
nervous tic at best.
"I haven't come, as you are probably thinking,
to make any plea," she said quietly.
"I'm not asking you to come back because it's clear that you
won't. This is nothing personal. I've come because
I have a problem. I need advice, and I don't
happen to know anybody else who can give it as
well as you can."
"Not your friend Arnie?"
"No. Please listen to me. But if you're not at
all interested, I'll leave. Maybe I've done
an unforgivably foolish thing in coming here."
"Sit down," he said.
He had risen when she entered the room, and both of
them were still standing. Now, as he drew a chair up for
her, they both sat, separated as is usual in a
professional office, by an oversized desk. He
iooks tired and stern, she thought before turning her
eyes away.
"What kind of problem is it? If it's medical,
I'm not a doctor. If it's legal, I'm not a
lawyer."
"I'm not exactly sure what it is. That's part
of the problem. It may be somewhat legal, but I
don't really know that, so-was
Will interrupted. "A lawyer would know it."
"I can't go to one. I don't want to mention an
innocent person's name to a lawyer if it
isn't necessary."
"That's being overly scrupulous, I should say. In
fact, it's absurd."
"I don't think it is. Not if a person has
been a close, loyal friend. You'd want to be
careful how you used his name."
"A close, loyal friend. That wouldn't be Arnie
again, by any chance?" Will spoke with scorn in his
voice.
"Yes, I'm sorry to say so, but it is."
"He's your lover, isn't he? So why do you come
to me?"
"To begin with, I've told you before that he is not my
lover. He never was. It's true that he would like
to be and that he has asked me to marry him, but I will
not marry him because I do not love him. I like him very
much, though, and I believe he may be in trouble of
some kind. That's the whole truth."
be
"You haven't answered my other question. Why do you come
to me?"
  I
"I thought I answered it. Because I trust you."
She sat up straighter and waited. There was silence
in the room. He was looking at her without
revealing any judgment or any feeling at all.
He has someone else by now, she thought, and I have
become a curiosity. He was a stranger. The
crisp speech, the formal posture with folded hands
resting on the desk, the eyes that refused to meet
hers, all these were strange.
She wanted suddenly to be out of the room, away from this
unnatural atmosphere. But he was waiting for her
to say something more, so as quickly and clearly as she could-for
he tended to be impatient with longwinded
descriptions-she related the events that disturbed
her, the affair of the horse and the troubles with Arnie.
"Maybe there's no sense id all this," she
concluded. "Maybe I'm frightened about a burglar in
the house when it's really just the wind rattling the
window."
Will was looking over her head at the opposite wall
and did not answer. The ruddy color that had once so
become him had bled away; in the dimming light of the
late afternoon, he looked gray.
"I don't want to hurt this man who's been so good
to me and my children," she said. "Yet when a person
acts so out of character-was
He interrupted. "I'll speak to someone. The man
I have in mind is discreet, and no one will
ever know that you were here. When I have something to report,
I'll call you."
Understanding that she was being dismissed, Hya
T
cinth rose and thanked him. The interview had been
dignified and correct, as she had determined it would
be. It had even been somewhat helpful, as she had
hoped it would be. It had also been so cool that no
witness would ever have guessed that this man and this woman
had once loved each other.
Yet as she put her hand on the doorknob to leave
him, she could not help but turn to ask, "And how have you
been?"
"Getting along. And you?" "Getting along. And
thank you again." It began to snow. The slow, thick
flakes of earliest spring made wet spots on
Hyacinth's smart Libretti coat. From her
equally smart red handbag, she drew a collapsible
umbrella. Then she put on her sunglasses.
Surely there was no glare coming out of the dark sky, so
it was not for that reason; it was only to hide her eyes,
which suddenly were overrun with tears.
The waiting time was wretched. Every day for the next
week, Hyacinth fended off Arnie's insistent
arguments and pleas as best she could. Every day
she went through an argument with herself: Had she stirred
up a hornet's nest? Or perhaps a nest in which there
were no hornets, thus making herself more than ever into a
foolish meddler? Not that it really mattered. . . .
Francine, making her weekly telephone.call,
was evidently frustrated by Hyacinth's unwillingness
to take her advice, because she had obviously
decided to let the subject drop. And Hyacinth,
when their rather timid con- versations ended, was saddened,
for the mother, the
good mother, had only been planning-mistakenly, as it
happened-for the daughter's benefit.
At last, on the second Monday, there was a
message: "7
now have a full report and can see you at my office
tomorrow afternoon, or I can bring it to your house this evening,
whichever you prefer. Will Mitier."
Will Miller,
instead of
W.
As if, without the full name, I would not know who he
was! A little thing like that speaks volumes. Expect
nothing, it means; I am merely doing you a decent
favor. Suddenly, she did not want to see him
again, especially in that forbidding office.
Let him come here then, to her own territory.
When she opened the door to him that evening, she felt the
very air of his last departure there: the sound of the
door's soft closing, and the silence afterward. She
wondered what, or even whether, he too might be
having any remembrance of that moment.
But he gave no sign of anything except
businesslike efficiency. With his slight frown and his
refusal of coffee, he made it clear that he was in
a hurry.
"In this computer age," he said, as he withdrew a
notepad from his pocket, "you would expect to learn
something in hours, but this business, as it turns out,
became somewhat complicated. These are my personal
notes. I definitely did not want to own anything
in writing."
With her hands clutched together in her lap and her nervous
heart already racing, Hyacinth fastened her eyes on
the paper from which Will read.
"I'm going to start in the middle," he said, "beginning
with the death of the horse. It happens that its death was
already under investigation before you came to me. Insurance
companies are very suspicious when a valuable horse
dies. There used to be too many cases like that. In
fact, the moment you told me about the death,
I thought of a case that happened in my home town where
a prominent society leader-a very fine lady but not
too fine to murder an animal for the insurance-well,
no matter. But in recent years there have been very few
such cases because people are afraid now. Some daring souls
still try it, and sometimes it's successful. But then
sometimes, other things happen. A righteous person
finds out or suspects and goes to the authorities.
At the same time, the partners in the conspiracy have a
falling out, probably about splitting the money. And
there you are. And then, then-was
She could not help but interrupt. "You can't mean
Arnie ?"
Will nodded. "Yes. I consulted a private
investigator whom we employ, and I do mean
Arnie. The clues were mainly the conflicting
causes, one a broken leg and the other an internal
rupture. The truth is that the horse was simply
shot to death. The excuse that was officially given was the
broken leg. But apparently there was a falling out, and
somebody talked."
Hyacinth gasped. "I can't believe Arnie would do
anything like that! There was no cruelty in him, not at
all. How could he-was
"Well, at least there was no pain,
except for the in;
surance company," Will said wryly. "Many a
respected . business finds it very convenient from time
to time to
backslash :-
have a fire sale. It's nothing new."
"I can't believe it's Arnie," she repeated,
"It doesn't fit him."
Will grimaced. "You can't always judge people by their
outsides, can you? Are you feeling all right? You
look faint."
"Not faint. Just sick."
"Are you sure you want to hear the rest? It's not a
pretty story."
"Go on," she whispered.
"They have a lot of evidence; Arnie's signature
on a falsified certificate, the man in
Florida, probably the one who talked to your mother
that day, and somebody else who went back
twenty-five years to when Arnie Ritter was Jack
Sloan."
"They're both his name. Jack Arnold
Ritter-Sloan was his name, but he hated it. He
always said, 'Hell, I'm no hoity-toity
aristocrat who needs a double name." his
"It seems to have come in handy for a while, though. He
Kad a fire when he was a medical student in
Texas, insured under the name of Sloan. It was a
big fire, his whole apartment went up in flames,
and he lost all of his valuables, rare books, very
costly, or so he claimed. It looked
suspicious at the time, but they could never prove it,
so nothing happened."
"Twenty-five years ago," Hyacinth repeated in
horror.
Had
they not said
he left Texas in
a hurry?
"Yes, and but for this horse affair, nothing would be
happening. Now it's all come to life."
Neither spoke. Will seemed to be studying her now, and
his scrutiny was so unbearable that she had to look
away, down at her own feet.
"It's a terribly painful thing to be disillusioned when
you thought you knew a person," he remarked.
No doubt he meant that for her, but she let it
pass, saying only that she wanted to thank him.
"I'm very, very grateful to you, more than I can say."
He inclined his head in a formal
acknowledgment. "I'm glad I was able to help. But
it's all about to come out in the news pretty soon
anyway."
"What are we waiting for? The kids don't have
to finish the last few weeks of school. Let's go
now."
"Arnie," she said again. "I still don't understand. He
was so kind, so loving to us all."
"Tell that to the insurance company." Will's tone was
grim. "That man who died in the fire-was
"What!" cried Hyacinth. "What fire?"
"The medical building, Arnie's own building."
"He
burned it down? Arnie did it?"
"Indeed he did," Will said, still grimly. "He's
had to confess. I learned it this morning. Of course
he didn't have a leg to stand on, what with the Texas
affair and now the horse."
As after long darkness a person's eyes are struck
by a shaft of brilliant light, so now Hyacinth was
pierced by pain. Her life, the life of these past
years, went whirling, and seated there in her own room
the very walls went whirling.
"My children!" she cried. "They took them away from
me, and now-and now-I'll have them back-
w
"What is all this? What are you talking about?"
She was unable to speak. She was too stunned to find
words, and yet her thoughts were flashing.
Such relief! Such unspeakable relief! Emma and
Jerry ... And I'm not responsible, not even through
the carelessness of a dropped cigarette ... not
responsible for anything.... I can ex it all
to everybody, and most of all to Francine-poor
Francine-she suffered-
Will was staring at her. And all at once, she saw that
his cool, formal courtesy was nothing more than a
defense. She saw his painful effort to contain his pain
within himself. And bowing her head into her hands she broke
into sobs.
The next instant brought Will to his knees before her.
"What is it? For God's sake, tell me," he
cried, forcing her face up toward his own.
"You see-you see," she stammered, "they thought
I
did it. That I burned down the office because I was in
a rage about a woman, and Gerald found my things
on the lawn, and it was a murder, you see, because the
man, the poor fireman, died, and that's arson
murder, a felony- murder, and I-I-was
"They thought it was yow?"
"Yes, yes, they thought it was, and Gerald, he
said-was
Will got up and took her into his arms, while she,
with her head on his shoulder, cried out her story.
"Take your time, take your time," he whispered,
kissing her head, stroking and holding her. "Who dared
to accuse you? Who dared?"
"Well, Gerald. I told you-was
"He ought to be drawn and quartered. Or is he
insane?"
"No, no. He really believes that I did it."
"Oh God in heaven, why didn't you tell me
all this
before?" Will's cry was agonized. "Didn't you trust
me? Why?"
"I was too afraid. I was terrified. They would
say I had a motive, and I did have one. So I
had no defense, did I? You don't know what
fear like that can do to you. Every hour of every day, I thought of
my children. And all the fear was locked up inside me,
sealed like a vault in a bank. Sealed. I felt
that if I talked about it, it would come true. You see
how things do come out after twenty- five years, don't
you?"
"But me! Me. You knew I loved you. I would have
done anything-was
"I wanted to live with you, W. But you wanted a
wife. How could I do that to you?
It
all of a sodden I should be accused and very likely
convicted--how could I do that to you?" she repeated. "You
were, you are, a man rising in the world. To put you at
risk to share my trouble-how could I?"
"Who gives a damn about rising? Do you really think
that would have stopped me?"
"Are you saying you wouldn't have cared? Will, be truthful
with me."
"I have always been truthful with you, even about those
half-baked pictures you used to paint. Yes, I
would have been very worried, very worried for your sake.
But that would never have kept me from taking you as my
wife. You were, you are, for me as close
to perfection as one can ever hope to find in this world."
Perfection.
And quite still, Hyacinth felt his heart as it touched her
own, the thumping beat upon the beat of her own.
"Did you ever think about me?" she murmured.
"Yes, the way one thinks sadly, while trying not
to, of someone who has gone away or
died."
"I never went away, but there were plenty of times when
I wished I would die."
"But you came to me when you needed help."
"I knew that if anything should be revealed about me, you
wouldn't hurt me."
"I didn't like Arnie, you know. I told you so.
The only time I was with him, riding away from your
house in the cab, I felt something concealed behind the
friendly grin. It wasn't because I was jealous, although
I admit I was. I simply didn't like him."
"You don't know him, W. He was-is-the kindest
soul on earth, and I can't make any sense out of
what he's done."
"Contradictions. We all have them. Only his were
extreme."
"I pity him.... Of course I also despise him
for letting me suffer as I have. I suppose that's
my contradiction."
After a long minute, Will spoke again. His voice was
very soft and breaking. "I'm remembering the hammock
and the crashing waves. Those nights keep coming back and
back again."
"Do you remember that day in the park when all of a
sudden we looked at each other and both of
us knew and neither
of us
said it?"
"And before that there was the day you dropped the bag of
books on the sidewalk."
"And I'm remembering-was
Will raised his hand. "Enough. Enough of remembering. We
have lost
time
to make up for."
He
was kissing her and now, at the same time, laughing a
little. "Get up, so I can carry you inside."
Y2S," Gerald said, "you could have knocked me
over with a feather. I'm still in shock." Hyacinth had
been bringing the last of the children's belongings down the
stairs, when Gerald appeared. Having hoped
to avoid him but caught now at the foot of the stairs,
she stood there surrounded by boxes and bags.
"How a man as smart as Arnie is can mess up his
life like this is beyond me. Who ever could have imagined the
things he's done?"
And who could imagine that Gerald would be talking to her
as naturally as if they were in the habit of holding
daily conversations? Here in his tennis
whites, cradling his racket and shaking his head in
astonished disbelief, he continued his narration.
"Cashed in all his securities and emptied his
bank accounts to the last penny, but he didn't touch
our corporate account, which of course he could have
done. And
now he's vanished, God knows where to. How's it
going to end, do you think?"
"I have no idea," she said sadly.
"Oh, they'll get him eventually. They always do.
Always did. But now, with the World Wide Web and
Voice of America's Crime Alert,
it's even easier. Another thing"-and Gerald's
face took on an expression of wise
judgment-"a man like him who likes to show off his
wealth, a flamboyant type, you know, won't be
able to stay inconspicuous. You should see what he's
done with this office downtown. Arnie's always been a
big spender. He makes it and spends it."
Hyacinth was thinking, You don't do too badly,
either. She was looking past Gerald's shoulder through the
hall and the rooms beyond. They had changed since the
single visit she had made here before. New
influences had left their mark everywhere in hideous
artificial flowers, heavy gilt, and
thick, dark satins, all expensive and unsuited
to the climate. There was a time when he would have
rejected such a gaudy display.
Gerald was telling her, "He left me a note.
Came yesterday, postmarked here, probably just before
he left for wherever he went. It's an apology
to me, and some stuff about you:
"Don't blame Hy. She had absolutely
nothing to do with the fire in any way. Nothing at
all."
He underlined it."
For a moment, overwhelmed yet again by the sadness of
everything, she was silent. Arnie. How to ex him? Was
there ever any real explanation when decent people
transgressed?
"I have a note, too," she said. It was none of
Gerald's
business, and yet for some reason she wanted him
to hear it. his
"Forgive me, Hy, for all the terrible hurt I
caused you. I've tried to make it up to you.
Please try to remember that I really loved you, and
still do." his
At the last words, when her voice cracked,
Gerald exclaimed with heated indignation,
"I can imagine how you'd like to shoot him through the
heart. I know I would if I were you. I'd want
to destroy him."
"No," she said. "He's a tragedy. All the
goodness in him gone to waste."
"What? You're not enraged? You're an unusual
woman, Hyacinth. Amazing."
"Oh, I'm angry at him, very much so. But far,
far more so at you."
It was Gerald's turn to be silent, and she saw that
her words had struck home.
As he turned away from her, she took the
opportunity to examine him. There it was, the face
with the slightly tilted, teasing gold-brown eyes, the
face that women loved, not a day older than if had
been on the afternoon when she had rescued him from the rain
storm, she, the delayed adolescent, ignorant and
infatuated. Even now that face still spoke of
humor, pleasure, and passion. Even now it
promised nothing. It had never really given anything,
nor had it ever loved.
Well, yes, she corrected herself. He had loved
the children; after all, they were extensions of himself.
W
I really thought you did it, Hyacinth," he
said now. "I really thought you were jealous enough to have done
it. That's God's truth."
"Then you never knew me. If you had loved me
enough, you would have known me better. You would have known that
I was no arsonist. If you had loved me, you would not
have taken my children away."
Gerald threw up his hands. "God Almighty,
I'm sorry. The whole thing's been an awful
mistake, a mess. And I was terribly wrong.
But I still don't see how you can be more angry at me
than at Arnie."
"Arnie had a heart, you see. The only people he
hurt were the insurance people, which is certainly a terrible
crime, but he also paid off the fireman's
mortgage for the widow and gave her four years of
college for each of her children. That's to say nothing about
all his other kindnesses and especially his goodness
to Jerry and Emma and me. He's a sick man,
I think. He must be. And so I'm terribly
sorry for him."
"Well," Gerald conceded, "you do have a point. He
was a gambler, and from there, I suppose, it's not too
big a step to worse things when you happen to be in
need of cash. Yes, it's pitiable, the way you put
it. It's an addiction, like alcohol."
"Or women. By the way, how is Sherree? Or was
it Cheryl? The one after Buddy, I mean."
Gerald's smile was followed by a flush that rose
to the roots of his hair. "That's all nonsense.
With a little serious willpower, addictions can be
overcome."
He was admiring her. Suddenly she was conscious of
her dress, which was the color of ripe apricots, of
her shining black sandals and the ribbon band that she had
worn to keep her hair from blowing in the wind. Never
before in this man's presence had she felt such
confidence, or even such superiority. A picture
flickered for an
instant before het eyes and then flickered away:
Jim, at the little dining table in Texas, had just
talked about giving them the big house when Gerald was
finished with his training, and Gerald was almost visibly
discarding any thought of abortion. With hindsight now, it
was all too clear.
"I've been reading and hearing so much about your
success," he said. "I've wanted to congratulate
you, but since you wouldn't even talk to me-was
"There was no point in talking to you."
She was restless. The conversation had gone on too
long, and Will was waiting outside in the rented
car. She had not wanted him to come in. And moving now
to depart, she was stopped by Gerald's quick yet somehow
tentative question.
"Now that we have talked, I was thinking that-well, that
possibly you might give some thought to maybe trying
again."
Two suitcases dropped from Hyacinth's hands and
thumped onto the floor.
"Trying again? You can't mean what I think you mean?"
"Well, yes I do. You and I-after all, we
were-I thought, seeing you, and with so much cleared up in
our minds-was
"You can't be serious, Gerald. You can't be. Why,
I'd as soon adopt a cobra."
He withdrew as if he were expecting her to strike
him. "All right, all right. Forget I said it. The
only thing is, I don't like to see you go away with so
much hatred toward me, Hyacinth."
"The fact is, I'm not going away with all that much
hatred toward you. I've just realized that, actually,
I don't have it. Well, maybe I still do somewhat,
because what you did to me was unspeakable. But at least
I'm not going to waste too much time and energy over it.
I'm far too happy." Pausing, she looked
straight into his eyes. "Now if you'll
ask Tessie, please, to help me with this stuff,
I'll appreciate it. My mother is waiting with
Emma and Jerry at the hotel. We're flying
home tonight, right after an early supper."
With sudden force, Hyacinth was affected by Gerald's
relative lack of emotion now that his children were departing
from his house. Yes, as he had said, he would miss
them, he hoped they would like their new school, he would
keep in regular touch with them; but with all of that, he
seemed to feel nothing that compared with her agony when the
situation was reversed. But had Arnie not remarked that
they were no fun for Gerald anymore? Yes, that's
it, she thought. He has grown vaguely tired of
being constantly with them, just as he grew tired of me.
The very model of a man, he is.
"One more thing," she said briskly, for at the other
door, Tessie had come partially into view,
wide-eyed, dying of curiosity and suddenly very
respectful of "that crazy woman." "One more thing.
I want you to know that I do not intend to poison the
children's minds against you in any way. I have never done
it, and that's because of their welfare, their mental health,
not yours. Also, I want you to know that you may see them
whenever it is convenient for me, assuming that it is also
their wish, and I'm sure it will be because they
love you, and
should love you. Oh, and the last thing! Good Lord, I
almost forgot the dog. Will one of you please get
Charlie for me?"
"One second, Hyacinth. First let me take these
things to the car."
"Thank you, but no. Tessie and I can manage
them. It will be less awkward that way, given the
circumstances. My husband is out there in the car, you
see."
"How was it?" Will asked.
"Not as bad as I thought it would be. It was really more
pathetic than anything else."
"Francine thinks you had
a
lot of spunk to go by yourself, or to see him at all.
We were talking about it last night. She was afraid
he'd be nasty and that there'd be a bad scene."
"It was just the opposite, not that I would have minded either
way. He even suggested that maybe he and I could
get together again. Can you believe it?"
"After the story of your friend Arnie, I guess I
could believe anything."
"The tragedy of Arnie, you mean."
"A tragedy and a mystery. Nobody's ever
exed and probably never will ex what makes a
Gerald, an Arnie, or-or any of us."
"Francine can't get over how wrong she was about
Arnie, even hoping I would marry him. She isn't
used to making such a huge mistake, having been so
right about Gerald."
"Francine's a character." Will chuckled. "She told
me she's given up the fortune-teller business."
"Did she tell you she's leaving on a cruise
to South America with her new man? I haven't said
anything yet, but I'm surprising her with all the
clothes for it, a Libretti wardrobe."
Will corrected her. "The Hyacinth line. Yes,
she told me about the cruise. She also had the nerve
to tell me that she hopes you'll be pregnant by the
time she gets home."
"She still has a good sense of humor, I see."
"No, no, she was serious. She was in earnest. And
I am, too, in case I haven't already mentioned
it."
Deep, endless blue lay between the beach and the
horizon, on which three sails were moving westward
toward the afternoon sun. And there, running on the wet sand
with their backs to the sun, were the children, Hyacinth's own.
"Look, darling," Will said. "They've been
waiting for us."
She was filled with the most wonderful lightness, so that
she had to cry out.
"I feel as if I could fly!"
He looked down at her. His eyes, those
humorous, kind, honest eyes that missed nothing,
understood her completely. They smiled, and his arm
went around her.
"We'll both fly," he said.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
lives in northern New Jersey. She is the
author of
Evergreen, Random Winds, Eden Burning,
Crescent City, The Golden Cup, Tapestry,
Blessings, Harvest, Treasures, Whispers,
Daybreak, The Carousel, Promises,
Secrecy, Homecoming, Legacy of Silence,
and
Fortune's Hand.
Be sure to look for . ..
LOOKING BACK
The unforgettable new novel from the
New York Times
bestselling
author of
Fortune's Hand
and
Evergreen
Sometimes we choose lies over love ...
In every life there is a moment when everything changes.
For three lifelong friends, it comes in the form of a
shattering act of betrayal that will shift the balance of
power between husbands and wives, parents and children, sisters
and brothers. When the dust settles, the three friends
will look at their lives-and one another-differently.
And none of them will be the same.
NOW ON SALE IN HARDCOVER