by Belva Plain
It was a kind of comfort to be ordered around in such a nice way, and so she accepted, although with a condition.
“The girls and I will cook the dinner, at least.”
“You will not. The dinner’s being catered. I want you to get dressed up and be waited on for a change.”
All through the day before and through most of the night, it had snowed, and on Christmas morning a great white peace lay over the blizzard-beaten landscape.
“A postcard,” Margaret said. “All it needs is a horse-drawn sleigh with fur robes and harness bells. But come look at the drifts. There’s no way we can leave here today.”
The girls, who had already laid out the extravagant dark red velvet, lace-collared dresses that Nina had sent, were dismayed. Danny insisted that he could shovel the car out.
“You can’t, and even if you could, I wouldn’t dare venture on those roads with that car.”
Fred lived in what he jokingly referred to as “exurbia,” meaning a house not exactly in the country, but that, set within its two or three wooded acres, looked as if it were.
Just then the phone rang. “I’m coming for you around noon,” said Fred. “That Jeep of mine can go up Mount Everest.”
So, carrying gifts and pumpkin pies that Margaret, regardless of caterers, had baked, they climbed into the Jeep and started over the hill. In the dip beyond the crest they came upon Stephen Larkin trying to extricate his half-buried car.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Fred called. “Wait till tomorrow and get a tow.”
Stephen tramped over to the Jeep. He was laughing. “I can’t wait. You’re not going to believe it, but I’m all out of food. I was supposed to fly to my sister’s over the holiday, but of course there are no flights. So I’m trying to get to a restaurant.”
“Climb in here,” Fred told him. “I’ve got dinner enough for an army at my house. And if we get stuck on the way, which we won’t, Margaret’s got two big pies. Come on.”
“I’m not exactly dressed for dinner in these clothes.”
Actually, Margaret thought, in those clothes, the jeans, the rough jacket, and the cap pulled down above his reddened cheeks, he looked especially attractive.
Fred ordered, “Get in.”
She was unusually observant lately, especially sensitive to trivia, to atmosphere. And so she had been noticing, or had thought she was noticing, small alterations in Fred’s manner. Now hearing him, she was abruptly certain there really was a difference, as if in a benevolent way he were taking command. He had always seemed so mild, especially toward her. But she had had a husband then.…
No matter. She did not want to think about it. And she settled back to enjoy the ride. It felt good to be dressed up and going someplace. She felt loose, lightened, if only for this day, of all that weighed upon her. She was determined to separate this day both from before and the inevitable after.
Fred’s house was large and white with the rambling aspea of a farmhouse. Denise had been a lover of gardens, and even under snow their shape was evident in long, lovely curves and billows. Indoors, the comfortable, spacious rooms remained as she had left them, the soft chintzes, now sun faded, the Christmas roses in the same white china bowl on top of the piano, and the piano with the lid down and probably, by this time, out of tune.
They had made a good home, a good life, together. Now these friendly rooms belonged to a man who, living alone, must scarcely use them; they had that look. Understandably, he wanted most to reestablish the life he had once lived here.
In the long dining room the table was set with Denise’s blue-and-white Wedgwood; the silver glowed; there were more crimson roses bedded among sprays of holly. The dinner, the wines, and the service were all perfect. Fundamentally a simple man not given to displays, however tasteful, Fred had nevertheless made a marked display. It embarrassed Margaret to think that it had been done for her. Gil and Louise, though not among Fred’s circle of friends nor of his generation, had been invited only for her. Even Nina had been asked; she had been busy in New York, and anyway, the storm would have prevented her from coming, but she, too, had been asked for Margaret’s sake.
These thoughts silenced her, and she was careful not to meet Fred’s eyes. He was discreet. His own thoughtful eyes told her often, without words, that he respected the uncertainty of her position and her concern for her children; for the present he would ask nothing of her.
Louise said, “You ought to think of marrying Fred when you’re free. It would seem so natural.”
“He hasn’t asked me,” Margaret would answer lightly.
“But you know he will. The children need a father, and you go so well together.”
Why did people always want to marry you off? She was confused and did not want to feel any man’s intrusion on her privacy.
Yet she could not help but glance up at herself in the mirror that faced her above the sideboard. Tilted slightly over Stephen’s head, it showed her every motion, every angle: the scoop of vivid dark blue wool, below the white neck; the white smile, and each nervous glance as it met Stephen Larkin’s and turned nervously away.
It was enough to listen, holding apart from all the others’ conversation. I am like someone who has been starving, she thought, who must not be given too much food at once. And so she sat quietly, wearing a careful, cordial smile.
After the plum pudding and the pies the presents were given out next to the tree in the living room. Each of the young ones had a gift for Fred, paid for with their own earnings from the summer and Saturdays in the fall. Megan had worked at Danforth’s in the sweater department, Julie had baby-sat, and Danny had caddied at Fred’s club. Gil and Louise gave Margaret a beautifully bound album of old photos that Louise had saved, pictures of Margaret’s grandparents taken on their honeymoon before the First World War, of her father, in Marine uniform, dozens of pictures to be cherished. Fred gave her a handsome leather carryall.
“To tote your books and papers to school in style,” he said. “You’ll also find it handy for travel.”
She laughed. “It’s beautiful right now, Fred. I’m not likely to be doing any traveling.”
“You never know,” he replied.
The young ones had been given a quiz game, which they began to play on the floor. Margaret, wanting to look at the album, sought a corner chair and lamp, while the rest watched A Christmas Carol on television.
Presently, Stephen left the television and went to her. “I have some information that came late yesterday, Margaret. If you want me to spare you another office visit, since I know how busy you are, I can give it to you now. Or, if it will spoil your day here, tell me. Be frank.”
Oh, why couldn’t the severance be swift and clean? Adam had left her. Why, then, didn’t he move to Timbuktu so that she wouldn’t ever have to hear his name? Only a week ago Louise had reported, “We saw them last night at that French restaurant where I took Megan that day. I said to Gil that it’s a mighty expensive place for a cheap woman.”
She put the album aside and asked Stephen to go ahead.
“Item one is that he’s found another job. Didn’t Julie and Danny tell you?”
“No. They never even knew he had lost the first one until I told them. I’m sure he was too proud to let them know himself.”
Strange that she was still able to comprehend or pity his loss and his pride! And yet, what does he care about us or about me, who was his wife and mothered his children? she asked herself.
“Thank goodness for our sake that he’s gotten another one,” she said.
“Unfortunately, he’s taken a slight cut in salary.”
“A cut? At his age he should be getting a raise.”
“There’s more. The woman is pregnant.”
Pregnant! A half-sibling from that woman for my lovely children.… From that woman.
“Another child,” she cried, trying to curb her outrage. “He can’t even do right by the ones he has. It’s disgusting.” Anger choked he
r, and she said fiercely now, “I want more money for my children. Megan has applied to Harvard. And her advisor says there’s a good chance that she’ll be accepted. She deserves to go, and I want her father to pay for it.”
“You can’t get blood from a stone,” Stephen said gently.
“His lawyer claims he has mortgage expenses for that house, doesn’t he? So let him sell the house. I had to sell mine.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not his to sell. It belongs to the woman, and she isn’t even his wife.”
“Then let him leave her and cut his expenses. Tell me, has he gone completely crazy, or is he just bone evil, or is he both?”
“I can’t answer that,” Stephen said, still gently.
A Christmas Carol having ended, Fred went over now to Margaret’s corner, questioning, “You’re looking anxious. Is something wrong?”
“Only the usual. It’s a complicated business, getting a divorce.”
Fred’s reply was a pointed question, directed to Stephen. “How long do you think it will take?”
“That depends. A year, or even two.”
“It’s an outrage. Does the law think people live forever? Two years while life stops. Everything on hold.”
Margaret stood up. Suddenly she was overwhelmed. She wanted to get home, lie down, and pull the blanket around her ears. And she had hoped so much to set this day aside, as if there had never been a catastrophe, as if hers still were an ordinary life.
She was conscious of Stephen, watching her. “It’s been a wonderful day, an unexpected treat for me,” he said quickly. “But perhaps we should start back. I’m wondering whether my car is permanently frozen in the parking lot.”
The streets around the apartments had been plowed so that the going was smooth. Margaret’s house was the first stop. Politely, as they alighted from the Jeep, Julie and Megan thanked Uncle Fred. And Danny said, “I wish we lived in your house, Uncle Fred. Did you tell Mom we could?”
Concealing her embarrassment, Margaret reproved him. “You are silly.”
“No, I’m not. Uncle Fred told me we could if you wanted to. And we could get Rufus back if we lived there.”
This was the first time in a long while that he had mentioned the dog. The boy’s eyes were round with innocence and candor, with a sweetness almost babylike in spite of the down starting on his upper lip. Always, always, he had been able, unknowingly, to pull at his mother’s heart.
“Don’t be stupid,” Julie said sharply. “We can’t live there and you’re old enough to know it.”
“Why not? Look at all the empty rooms he has. We could, only Mom won’t.”
“Louder,” Megan said, “I’m sure the neighbors are fascinated. Keep it up.”
The two men in the front seat were silent, facing forward. Suddenly Stephen got out, saying, “Don’t go out of your way to drop me off, Fred. It’s a short walk, and I like the cold air.”
The car rolled away, the young ones went indoors, and Margaret, since he did not immediately move toward home, stood with Stephen.
“Danny doesn’t understand,” she explained. “He was just excited. The day was so exciting, with the presents and the snowstorm and Fred’s lovely house. Then he comes back, and reality strikes again.”
In the apartment the light went on. There was something forlorn about that small light, when all around lay the spread of white slopes and dark sky, a tingling stillness and enormity.
Stephen smiled. “I’m sure Fred didn’t mind. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m worried about my children and no one else, including myself.”
“Yes,” Stephen said, “I’ve noticed. Are you aware that you don’t speak so much about Adam anymore?”
“I wasn’t aware. But now that you tell me, I can see how that can be. I’m not mourning for him anymore, Stephen. I really don’t care how many women he takes or what else happens to him. I only want his money for my children.”
He looked down at her with an expression that she could not fathom, searching her, as he had done at Fred’s dinner table.
“They will survive,” he said, “because you are a survivor.” He smiled again. “I have every confidence in you. Just don’t make any final decisions until you’re ready.”
“Such as?”
“Such as anything. Well, Merry Christmas and good night.”
Quite suddenly, he had brought her close to tears, which was strange, considering that she had just said she cared about nothing except her children. Probably, though, it was only because he reminded her of what it was to be young. Although he was her own age and was often grave, there was still a shining about him. She sensed a quality of hidden joy. And it came to her that the only person close to her who had that quality was Nina. Yes, a shining. And she watched him to the bottom of the hill as, lightly, with rapid grace, he moved across the snow.
TWENTY-SIX
As spring came in and the days grew warm enough to sit outdoors, Margaret began the habit of taking her work to the park. Sometimes she stopped at the ball field to watch Danny play, but mostly she went straight to the lake, where drifting swans, indifferent and patrician, marked the still water with their wakes. At them and at the windblown trees one could gaze and gaze without thought.
On this particular day, however, she was full of thought. The college letters had arrived. Megan, unable to bear the tension of waiting for the mail, had taken the car and gone on errands, while Margaret, herself tense with expectation, had waited at the window for the mail truck.
“Thick envelopes mean acceptance, Mom. Thin ones are thumbs down. I don’t mind if you open them,” Megan had said.
If only the advisor and all her teachers had not encouraged the girl to apply to Harvard! If only they had not raised her hopes! In some ways Margaret had almost wished that Harvard would not take her; the disappointment then would not be even close to the heartbreak that would come from having to refuse their acceptance.
Ah, but what a pity! Megan had had the highest grade average of any student in the previous twelve years. She deserved this honor. And Margaret, examining her own heart, knew beyond any doubt that there was not within herself or her daughter the slightest trace of snobbery. It was only that Harvard was so highly selective. It was only that in applying there Megan had been challenging herself to do her best. And she had won.
She’s smarter than I ever was, Margaret thought. Her mind is remarkable. She is a remarkable person. A trifle too rigid, she is what you might call a Puritan: stalwart, driven, and uncomplaining. She never asks for anything. You cannot move her when she knows or believes she’s right. But she is so decent, honorable, and kind, so thoroughly good. She was never a humorous person, but she did used to laugh. And boys like her. They used to come around and the telephone used to ring.…
He did this to her. Her father and Randi, they did this to her.… Margaret’s hands turned to fists on her lap.
She raised her eyes to the swans, circling, circling, in their dignity, their composure. The sun glittered on the lake. Such a beautiful world it was! And people ruined it.
Then she saw Stephen jogging down the path. When he saw her, he stopped.
“Five times around every Saturday and Sunday. I try to make up for all the hours I spend on a chair. Is Dan playing ball?”
“No, Fred took him to the football game.”
“Fred has a fatherly way with Dan.”
Whether that was a statement or a question was not quite clear, and so she answered simply, “Yes.”
“I’m really fond of Dan, you know.”
“Thank you. And as always, many thanks for his improvement in French. His teacher doesn’t know what to make of it.”
Stephen laughed. “By the way, you shouldn’t have done that.”
“Done what?” But she knew he meant the six volumes of Proust in French that she had sent him.
“The books. It’s a marvelous gift, but you shouldn’t have done it.”
“People get paid for t
utoring, and you wouldn’t let me pay. You’ve spent hours with Dan that you could have used for something else.”
He smiled. “I try not to do things that I don’t enjoy. I enjoy Dan.”
“You speak it like a native. Did you always speak French at home with your mother?”
As quickly as it had come, the smile disappeared. He shrugged. “That’s a long story. Too long. Dan said Megan’s waiting for college letters.”
“They came just now. Four acceptances, including Harvard.”
Stephen whistled. “Fantastic! Does she know?”
“Not yet. She’ll be home soon, and I dread it. I’ll have to tell her she won’t be able to go.” And Margaret looked into his face as if pleading. “Unless there’s a chance that Adam—”
He shook his head. “No. He doesn’t have to, and even if he wanted to, he isn’t able to.”
“Oh,” she cried, “if we were together, we would manage it. We never lived extravagantly. We might have to borrow a little against his salary, or Megan might get some financial aid from the college, but we would manage.”
“He has two families now. And double expenses. That’s what divorce does.”
She felt desperation rising in her chest. “I could dig into the money I got from selling the house. But I need the income. And I don’t dare touch that money yet.”
There were two more coming along. Julie was only two years behind Megan. She was bright, not like Megan, but doing well. And so was Dan.
Abruptly then, becoming conscious of Stephen’s jogging suit, she apologized. “Go on. I’m keeping you from your exercise. This is no place to air my worries.”
“Margaret, I don’t mind,” he said. “I wish I had a solution for you.”
“No, go jog. I have to get back to see Megan, anyway.”
Long after Dan and Julie were asleep, Margaret and Megan were still in the outer room.
