by Belva Plain
“And what’s going to happen?”
“He may either be up and about in a couple of weeks, or—he may not.”
“You’re telling me—”
“I’m not telling you anything, Eve, except to pray with all your heart.”
The week rolled on. Each day that passed was like the one before it; Joel was neither better nor worse. And Eve did pray that this was not to be her second time waiting for death in this house. Dad was too young to die.
Sometimes, though, it seemed to her that he was fading away. He slept too much, and as if he was too weary to raise his voice, spoke so softly that it was an effort to catch his words. Then she would tell herself that he was not “fading,” and that she was only, out of her dread, imagining it.
Tom telephoned often to suggest that perhaps she ought to come back and take make-up examinations. She could always go back if things should take a worse turn at home. And when Joel at last got out of bed one day and walked around, the Schulmans agreed. Vicky, too, urged her to leave, but of course, Eve thought, Vicky would.
Nevertheless, one morning when she had begun to pack her bag and arrange for a taxi to take her to the airport, Lore knocked on her door. Her face was drawn.
“Joel’s gone,” she said. “Vicky called the doctor just after midnight. There was no need to wake you up. It was a heart attack, over in minutes.”
IN the quiet space of Joel’s den, under the row of photographs that Caroline had chosen for him, Eve sat with Lore and the Schulmans. There had been a crowd at the services, followed by a crowd afterward here at home. But except for Vicky’s visitors, who had gathered with her in the sunroom, the house was now empty. Even Jane had been taken to play with the Schulmans’ grandchildren.
“So many friends,” Emmy Schulman said, and sighed. “They were a remarkable pair, Caroline and Joel. With all they went through—” She sighed again. “I remember the little flat above Gertrude’s, and your young mother acting brave, but obviously as bewildered as if she had landed on Mars. Now half of Ivy comes to pay its respects. I suppose you’ll be going back in a day or two. You have exams to make up.”
Dr. Al corrected her. “She has to wait for the will to be probated. That should be early next week.”
“I don’t want to do that,” Eve protested. “It seems—it seems ghoulish, waiting to count poor Dad’s money. I hate it.”
“But that’s life. And death is part of it, Eve.”
“I didn’t do it when Mom died.”
“That was different. Your father was here then. You’re older now, anyway, an adult with responsibilities.”
“I still feel horrible. What do I have to do?”
“Just go to the lawyer’s office and listen.”
“What about lawyers?” asked Lore, overhearing as she passed.
“An awful business with Dad’s will. I hope you’ll go along with me to O’Malley and Fried.”
“Oh, they’re not the lawyers anymore. She’s got rid of them, too. The new one’s some young fellow who came here a few months ago when Joel felt too weak one day to go downtown. I forget his name.”
From the sun parlor, where Vicky’s friends were gathered, came a burst of laughter at which Eve and Lore looked toward each other.
Sadly Eve said, “Everything’s changed, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, everything’s changed.”
THE stiff new paper crackled in the young man’s hands. His reading had already taken too long, and there were still some unread pages left. Eve’s mind wandered along with the monotonous voice through convoluted clauses, “whereats,” and “notwithstandings.” Her gaze moved from the dreary brown law books on the shelves, then surreptitiously to Vicky, who was dressed in widow’s black from head to toe; her little black pillbox, in imitation of Jackie, the First Lady, sat on a beehive of stiff hair that no gust of wind could ever stir.
Finally, her gaze came to rest on her own hands, folded on the lap of her best navy-blue suit. Dad had bought it for her when she had left for college four years ago; it was still her best suit, and she would never part with it. Never.
Nor was she ready to part with the ruby ring on her finger. Lore had brought it to her the day after the funeral.
“Joel told me to keep it safe. Here’s the insurance policy. Be careful to pay the premium. I’d advise you to keep it with the ring in a safe-deposit box. It’s too valuable to wear every day.”
“Mom wore it every day. It’s not flashy or anything.”
“It’s very refined, that’s true.”
She was going to wear it because Mom had worn it. She would wear it if it were worth a million dollars or ten cents. It was hers until it was time to give it to Jane, because it was Jane’s father who had given it to Mom. She sat there examining the ring, the way light flashed upon it and was scattered into sparks, when the droning voice broke off.
“You both have a right to read the will. I have a copy here for each of you.”
Eve was still only halfway through when Vicky finished, folded her copy, and put it into her alligator handbag. Eve’s glance traveled down to the matching shoes. She had learned fast, Vicky had. But that was Vicky’s business, not hers. She must read the thing carefully. You could almost say that it had been written to complicate, to confuse, rather than make clear.
She went back to the start, fixing her mind tenaciously upon each phrase, not allowing any impatient cough or creak of chair to hasten her. When she had finished, her blood was racing.
“I’m not sure I understand this,” she said. “The way I read it, all that Jane and I are to receive is twenty-five thousand dollars apiece, plus an education trust large enough to send Jane through college. And Lore is to get twenty-five thousand dollars. Correct me if I’m wrong, please.”
“Why, no,” the young man, bland in his proper suit and matching tie, bland with his neat brown hair and matching eyes, replied. “That’s plainly stated.”
“But I still don’t understand. What about all the rest?” Quite suddenly came a surge of anger. “You don’t mean that the business, the properties—”
“That, too, is plainly stated. Turn to pages two and three, where it says, ‘The balance to my wife, Victorine, to have and to hold—’ et cetera.”
“The balance means everything except twenty-five thousand each to Jane and me and Lore, plus Jane’s education? Whyever would Dad do that? The house, the business that Mom created—Dad always gave her full credit for it—it goes to—”
And she looked toward Vicky, who while caressing the new handbag did not return the look.
“Whyever would my father do such a thing?” she repeated.
The bland young man replied with another question. “Nobody else can very well answer that, can they?”
“But he said, he told me only days ago, that Jane and I would be ‘okay.’ That’s what he said.”
“Well, twenty-five thousand dollars is a fairly fine sum. Most people would think so.”
A stealthy animosity had crept into the room. This dialogue was like fencing: thrust and evasion. And Eve thought, thought fast. The other night when the Schulmans had invited her to dinner, Dr. Al, as he often did, had gone reminiscing about past times, about the Orangerie, its beginning and its immense expansion.
“Incredible what they accomplished together. She had the imagination and the drive. He had the business sense and the drive.”
Now Eve pressed forward. “This is the final will? There are no other papers?”
“No. This is the most recent will. It supersedes all previous ones.”
“I see.”
She was stunned. She was filled with rage, not at Dad, because this was not the work of the dad she knew, but at the two in this room who, having all the power here, were silently waiting for her to leave it. She stood up, and without a word, left.
That evening she reported, “I went right over to O’Malley and Fried. I had no appointment, but they saw me right away, both of them, and were very nice.
They’ll certainly take the case, but have you any idea what it can cost to contest a will? It could go on for years. Vicky will be able to afford to go through all the courts, but how can I?”
The Schulmans, aware of the tension in what was now Vicky’s house, were visiting Eve and Lore in Joel’s den.
“Nevertheless, I would try,” said Doctor Al.
“It was horrible. You were smart not to go, Lore. You would have felt like punching her.”
“I admit I have sometimes felt like doing it, anyway.”
“Still, you almost always made excuses for her.”
“That, too, I’ll admit. She had a bad start, and I felt sorry for her. Besides, it’s only fair to say she can be very likable. I’ll correct myself. She used to be.”
The doctor objected. “We’re digressing. Never mind Vicky’s personality. Let’s stick to the point. The point is that there has been fraud and robbery here.”
“But Dad signed the will!”
“The poor man couldn’t see well enough to read what he was signing. And even if he had had proper eyesight, he wouldn’t have had enough energy to concentrate. No, it’s a dirty business, that’s all it is, and they mustn’t be allowed to get away with it.”
“This I never expected from her,” Lore said. “She had her ways, God knows, and she’s done things I surely don’t approve of, but I never expected this.”
“I’m thinking,” the doctor said, “about those properties. The bare land out on the highway where Orangerie Number Six stands is worth a fortune. That one piece alone.”
Emmy’s round eyes were wide with amazement. “And it all belongs to Vicky?”
“It seems that way,” Eve said.
“Joel never knew what was being put over on him. I’ll vouch for that,” Schulman said, as if at that instant, he had read Eve’s thoughts.
The dog came in, stood for a moment in the doorway to contemplate them all, then turned and trotted away.
“He’s been looking all over for Joel,” Lore explained. “Poor thing, he keeps returning to the bedroom as if he’s asking himself why Joel isn’t there.”
“I suppose,” Eve said bitterly, “he goes with the house. Doesn’t he, too, belong to Vicky now?” She looked around at all Mom’s books, in three languages, and at Lore’s needlepoint chair seats, and out at the lake view that Mom had so loved.
“What do you think you’ll do?” asked Emmy.
Lore answered for her. “She’s going to get married. You don’t mind if I tell, Eve? These are our old friends. Why should you keep it a secret?”
“Really, Eve? How wonderful!” exclaimed Emmy.
“Joel already told me your secret,” Dr. Schulman said. “He was so glad you were happy. He told me it sounded as if the young man was just right for you. A scholarly type, he said.”
“But not a starving scholar, thank goodness,” observed Lore. “A little financial security never hurts. And now that this will’s been read, a lot of financial security will be better yet.”
“I don’t care,” Eve protested, “whether Tom has a dime or not. I only wish he were here.”
“Of course you don’t care,” Schulman agreed, “and that’s as it should be. But let’s get back to the will. You absolutely must try to upset it, Eve. If I were that young lawyer, I’d be shaking in my shoes. He should be, and could be, disbarred.”
“How so?” asked Lore.
“How can you ask? It’s obvious. The will is shot full of holes. Where’s any provision for Jane’s care? A minor child left without a guardian?”
“I’m sure Dad must have provided for that. As I remember,” Eve said, “when I turned eighteen, he made me her guardian.”
“But this is a new will. You need to fight,” the doctor reiterated. “That’s my advice. Don’t you agree, Emmy? And Lore?”
“Of course you’re right,” Lore said. “But I think it will be hard to prove anything crooked was done. Joel’s mind was sound to the end.”
Emmy mourned, “To think they were upstairs in this house, planning and plotting to take it away from Eve and Jane!”
“Happens all the time,” Schulman said. “Sometimes they get away with such stuff, and sometimes not. But you need to fight, Eve.”
“What about exams, my degree, everything?” There was such a whirling in Eve’s head … “How am I going to come back here for courts and appeals and stuff? How am I going to pay for it all? And I have no heart, anyway, for a fight that may go on for years.”
Emmy asked suddenly, “What’s going to happen to Jane?”
“I don’t know,” Eve cried. “I can’t leave her here. I won’t leave her with that woman.”
“You may have to fight that, too, in court,” Schulman said. “Vicky’s the legal wife, and she has the home for the child. What have you got? I’m playing devil’s advocate, of course.”
“I’m the sister. If she makes any fuss, I’ll steal my own sister. I’ll take my money and go to Australia with her, or—or—”
“Don’t worry about that,” Lore said. “She won’t make any fuss about Jane. If you ask me, she’ll be glad to get rid of her. A child that age can consume a lot of one’s time.”
“She sat there in that office today with such a look on her face—like a cat licking cream. And ever since the funeral, she’s been walking around the house as if she resented my coming into a room when she was in it.”
“Oh, the lady of the house,” Lore said sarcastically.
Eve stood up. “I’m going to talk to her. I’m going to say it all, flat out. First thing in the morning, I will.”
The doctor shook a warning finger. “Let your lawyer do the talking. Don’t you say a word.”
“Dr. Al, I know you make sense. I’ve been robbed, and I should fight. But I just don’t know.… Let me ask you again. What do you say, Lore?”
“Well, I tend to agree with you, Eve. But I hesitate to take a stand because I’m not a lawyer, and I may be all wrong. Still, personally I think you never can tell what will happen in a courtroom. You could just as easily lose. In this case, you probably would lose. So, with apologies to you, Dr. Al, I think, in the last analysis, I would put the mess away and advise Eve just to go on and live.”
THE rhythmical throbbing of bass drums came up through the ceiling. A raucous racket had kept Eve awake for what seemed like many hours, but this was the worst. Not, she thought now, that I would have slept well anyway. Dr. Al is right. It’s common sense, plain as day, plain as the nose on your face. You read these things in the newspapers all the time. Young nurses trick senile patients. Doctors are in cahoots with relatives. Vicky’s lawyer might be her lover, or maybe merely a financial partner in the deal. It’s a scandal, and I should attack them, should tear them both apart.
And yet, it would take up my life. It’s an enormous, dangerous mountain that I’d have to climb with the hope of finding justice and peace on top. But there may well be no peace or justice on top. If I lose the case, I’ll be a thousand times worse off than I am now.
Lore said I should put it all behind me, and live. Tom’s out there waiting for me—
The bedroom door opened. Light fell upon the bed and the hands of the clock, standing at midnight. Light fell upon Jane in her elephant-printed nightgown.
“Where’s my daddy?” she demanded. “I’m looking for my daddy.”
“Darling, we told you he’s gone away. And you,” Eve said very gently and no doubt ineffectually, “should be asleep.”
“Where did he go? I want to go there, too.”
“You can’t. He went far away, and you can’t. I can’t, either.”
“Why?”
Oh, dear! What advice would a child psychologist give right now? Eve had no idea, and having none, had to improvise.
“Because—you see, you have to be older to go there. You’re too young, and I am, too.”
The canny, small person in the doorway came close to the bed. Her cheeks were wet, her nose was running, and her st
are was suspicious.
“You know where he is, and you won’t tell me,” she said. “Vicky says he’s in heaven, but that’s not true.”
“Yes, yes, it is true,” Eve cried. “People have to wait their turn, you see, and it’s very, very far, so that’s why—Come into bed with me,” she urged as the wet face began to crinkle into tears. “Here’s a tissue for your nose. Get under the covers and—No, let’s go to your bed. You should be asleep. It’s late.”
From the bottom of Jane’s lungs, there burst a howl. “I want my daddy. I don’t want my bed, or yours either, and I don’t want Vicky’s. I don’t like Vicky. I went down to the music looking for my daddy, and she was mean to me. I’m not going to her bed, I said!”
“No, no, you don’t have to.”
“I want Lore.”
“Lore went home to her house right after your supper. You need to go to bed. Come, I’ll take you.”
“I don’t want to, Eve, I don’t,” Jane screamed.
You definitely never bribe a child. That was elementary. Still, in an emergency …
“If I give you a cookie, will you go like a good girl?”
Jane considered. “Two cookies. Chocolate chip. I don’t like the other kind.”
“All right. Climb into your bed while I go to the kitchen and get them.”
Quieted by chocolate, the tight little compact body relaxed against the pillow.
“Where’s Peter?” Jane asked.
“In his basket in the kitchen.”
“I want him to sleep with me. Will you let him? Vicky won’t let him.”
“Of course I will if you want him. Now turn the light out and you’ll go to sleep. Right? Promise?”
Vaguely, she remembered that you weren’t supposed to bargain with children, either, and she waited.
“All right. I promise.”
Eve went to fetch Peter. She was about to emerge from the kitchen in her bathrobe with the dog in her arms, when abruptly the music ceased and Vicky’s guests trooped into the front hall with loud goodbyes. When the front door slammed, Eve came out and started upstairs, hoping to avoid Vicky. Midnight was too late for the inevitable confrontation, but she was not quick enough.
