Legacy of Silence

by Belva Plain

  “Do you want to take the northern route through the mountains, the one Mom told about when those two men—what were their names?”

  “Lewis and Clark.”

  Suddenly, Eve’s spirits brightened with a vivid image of Indians and Spaniards; she heard strange music and saw brown faces, striped cloth, turquoise and silver. “No, let’s go south, through Santa Fe.”

  “That’s a good idea. Your mother would have liked that, too. She always wanted to know more about Indian life. We’ll see it through her eyes.”

  He will always see everything through her eyes, thought Eve.

  FROM her window in the women’s dormitory, she watched the station wagon turn and follow the driveway between the umbrella palms. There was a last, quick glimpse of Lore in the backseat with Jane, whose curly head was barely visible at Lore’s shoulder. Peter would still be in his basket at their feet; having slept his way contentedly across the continent, he was probably asleep again. Vicky was in the front seat next to Dad.

  It had been Lore’s idea to take Vicky along.

  “I don’t think she would enjoy it,” Eve had told her.

  “She would be a help. She could stay with Jane while the rest of us go to the Santa Fe opera, for example. They’re having a marvelous season this summer.”

  As Eve had made no answer, Lore had continued, “You never used to dislike her so much.”

  “I didn’t say I disliked her.”

  “But it’s obvious that you do.”

  “You’re wrong, Lore.”

  But Lore had not been wrong. Quite simply, Eve had feared to sound foolish if she were to reveal her reason for resenting Vicky: that she flirted with Dad. Dad, being Dad, was almost certainly not aware of it, but Eve, being a woman, recognized all the signs: the gaiety, the flouncing walk, the hovering concern.

  On the westward journey, whenever Dad drove, Vicky sat in front. When Lore drove, then Eve sat in front, while Dad and Vicky sat in back with Jane and the dog. Thinking about it now, Eve’s anger rose. What did she think she was doing? And besides, she was coarse, from her foundation cream, thick as pink plaster, to her mascaraed owl eyes and her yawning boredom. At the splendid Sangre de Cristo Mountains, she had cast a cool, exasperated glance, as if to say, “Well, they’ll do, but I don’t see what the fuss is all about.”

  The station wagon disappeared around the curb. Eve was alone. All the daily concerns of home were beyond her now. Never before had she been in a place where she knew no one and no one knew her. And she sat there gazing out at the palms, alien, green, and foreign to eyes that expected red and yellow leaves in autumn.

  She had the room to herself. Dad had wanted her to have the pleasure of privacy for study and sleep because she was an early riser who went early to bed. He had given her every luxury, far more than was necessary according to Lore, who in her Spartan way had strongly disapproved. She sat now surrounded by these luxuries, still unpacked. Her luggage was of the finest leather, ordered from a first-class shop in New York. There were skis—in case she might want to spend a winter weekend in New Mexico—and a surfboard—in case she might want to try surfing, which she was certain she did not want to try—and a tennis racket; there was a coffeemaker, a fan, a radio, a flowered silk quilt, a typewriter, a superb camera, and on her wrist a gold watch. The closet was not large enough to hold all her clothes without cramming. Mom would never have let Dad provide all this stuff.

  She got up and unpacked Mom’s photograph in its beautiful frame. On the well-used dresser she placed it beside a family grouping of Mom, Dad, Lore, and Jane, whose baby face smiled, showing her new, tiny teeth. The memories, crowding, came back: neighbors at the door, bringing flowers, food, and pity for the baby; letters of condolence spread out on the dining room table; Lore’s worn face and Dad just sitting there, staring at nothing.

  Loneliness overwhelmed her. And yet she was surrounded by people here. Every room was occupied. Voices passed in the corridor. But who were they all? Where had they come from, and where were they going?

  And she examined again the particular photograph that she already knew to the smallest detail: the curve of the eyebrow, the fold of the skirt—taffeta, she remembered, and silver-gray—the ruby on the finger. She remembered her rage at her mother, not all that many years ago. Now I am the age that Caroline Hartzinger was when she fell in love with the monster who fathered me.…

  Such moods do not last unless the possessor of them is prepared to wither away, and Eve was not about to let herself wither. After a while, she felt able to summon what she called “old-fashioned common sense,” to set her room in order, and go to see who was living next door and down the hall. It was time to become attached. Here she had been planted, and here she must take root.

  AT Christmas, it pleased Eve to bring home a pride-ful account of her first semester, with grades as high as they had always been. Joel nodded with satisfaction.

  “Your mother would be so happy, Eve, and I am, too. Tell me, are you having any fun?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m taking a dance class, I’ve made good friends and went with a group of them to Mexico one weekend. It was wonderful, and I want to go back. What really fascinates me is archaeology. We went to see some Mayan ruins in the Yucatan and they were marvelous. So I’ve signed up for some courses.”

  “What about your languages?”

  “Well, I’m going on with both French and German advanced literature. Of course, they’re no effort at all for me, which may seem lazy and probably is, but it’s also practical, because in a pinch I can always teach either language. Or I could do translations, I think.”

  “That’s practical planning.”

  It also pleased Eve to find at home that the deepest gloom had been lifted. It is likely, she reflected, that Jane is the explanation. Little more than a toddler and slightly small for her age, she had become a personage, very bright, persistent, and eager to know absolutely everything.

  “What’s in your book? Is that Humpty Dumpty?” she demanded while Eve was reading a biology assignment.

  “Why has that man got a bombella?”

  “Why can’t Daddy eat candy?”

  “She’s not what you were, Eve,” Joel said more than once. “You were energetic, but nowhere nearly as determined. Lore says I spoil her. Well, maybe I do, but I don’t mind if I do. She’ll be all right. And in the meantime, she’s adorable.”

  “You certainly spoil me, Dad. I can’t think of anybody who came to college as well supplied as I did.”

  “As long as you appreciate it, and you do, you’re not spoiled.” Joel leaned back in the lounger, savoring his cigar. “Tell me, how’s the man situation?”

  “Very good. Good for tennis and Saturday parties, but no lover, since that’s probably what you mean. Lightning hasn’t struck me yet.”

  “I don’t mean. You’re much too young. For God’s sake, Eve, don’t make any mistakes.”

  For an instant, the atmosphere was clouded; but only for an instant, as Joel changed the subject. “What do you really think of our Jane? Quite a change since you saw her last, isn’t there?”

  “Frankly, I give her credit for lifting some of the despair in the house.” Eve had to laugh. “We went for a walk yesterday, she, I, and that big pull toy that keeps turning over. I wanted to walk by the lake, but she insisted on going the other way. I found out why—she led me straight to the candy store on Main Street.”

  “And I suppose you bought her some.”

  “I’m ashamed to say I did. Only two chocolate kisses, though.”

  “I know, she’s not the easiest little kid to handle. I was a little worried about how we were going to manage after you left. But it’s all worked out quite well. Naturally, Lore is back at work, but I’ve been able to get more people in the office so that Vicky can pick up Jane from nursery school and stay here in the afternoons until either Lore or I get home. I feel safe having her with Vicky instead of with some total stranger. Don’t you agree?”

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

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

  “Untrue? I don’t know what you mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  TWELVE

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

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

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

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

  “Are you feeling all right?”

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

  “I’m all right, thanks. Just drowsy.”

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

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

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

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

  He said next, “You are absolutely beautiful.”

  “Thanks, but I think you’re crazy.”

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

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

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

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

  “You’re not bothering me,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “But why that awful woman?” Eve wailed.

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

  “But after Mom?”

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

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

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

  “And she’s to be a mother to Jane.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  She only wanted to be let alone.…

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

  Eve shook her head.

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