by Belva Plain
“Been reading detective stories, have you?”
Hank didn’t answer. He stared back at Paul. “Let me ask you something. The truth: Did you ever, even for a minute, think that Donal could have had anything to do with what happened?”
Paul took a deep breath. Stalling for time, Hank thought; he doesn’t like the question.
At last Paul spoke. “For more than a minute, Hank. I’ve thought too much about it.… And yes, I do believe there’s a connection. And the police believe it too.”
“Then where’s justice?” Hank cried furiously. “Why don’t they do something about it?”
Paul sighed. “It must scare you to see how imperfectly grown-ups rule the world. How can I explain? There are wheels within wheels, powers behind powers—no pun intended—and as you yourself said, you need proof. Proof is more than knowledge. You can know, without being able to prove. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
The pain in Hank’s throat was a hot thing, like a piece of burning coal. He swallowed hard. “I’m never going back to his house! Never.”
“Oh, but you’ll have to. You’ll be invited for the children’s birthdays, and most likely for Thanksgiving, too, this year. You’ll have to.”
“I can say no. Why can’t I?”
“And do that to Meg? And put an idea in your mother’s head that would drive her crazy? Listen to me, put all this out of your own head and go forward. There’s nothing you can do about it. You hear me, Hank?” Paul lowered his voice. “Besides, for your own sake, listen to me. Rage eats you up. Only remember Ben, remember that he loved you, and forget the rest.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Then will you take my advice?”
“Okay, Paul, you can trust me.”
Again Paul touched his hand. “I see that I can. You’ve grown a whole lot older.… Tell me, would you like to go to temple with me on Saturday mornings? You might hear things there that will help you understand about people, about evil and good.”
Hank considered. Mom never went, for Saturday was another busy day at the shop. Ben had been indifferent. Grandpa Dan was a nonbeliever, a secular Jew, he called himself. But Ben was gone now and Grandpa had a way of lecturing that was growing hard to take. That left Paul, who could play tennis and make jokes; he could also be serious without giving a boring lecture. So if Paul recommended temple, Hank would go.
“That would be fine,” he said. And he thought of something. “Mom says the war’s changed the way people feel about evil. They aren’t as shocked by—well, by people killing a man as they used to be once. Do you believe that, Paul?”
“I’m sorry to say, yes, I do.” Paul looked thoughtful. Then he smiled. “Well, enough of that! Shall we stop at the antique store in the village and buy a little something for your mother? A vase or a bowl or something she’d like?”
They went outside into the bright, crisp morning. Bees buzzed in fallen apples on the grass. The sun burned, but in the shade you felt a promise of the coming winter.
“We’ll buy some apples along the road on the way home,” Paul said. He put his arm around Hank’s shoulder.
Hank thought: I’ll remember this. Paul will die; many, many years from now he’ll be dead, and I’ll still remember the things we said in the summer of 1929, and remember yellow maples and the apples in the grass and his arm around my shoulder.
Nine
Meg was walking in the general direction of Leah’s place, still not sure that she really wanted to go there, not sure she wanted to see or talk to anyone. She had gone to New York that morning with similarly vague intentions, thinking perhaps of a visit to Hennie, merely to feel again the warmth remembered from childhood. But Hennie hadn’t been in. She had walked over then toward the museum on Fifth Avenue, had hesitated at the foot of the steps and kept going. She had come to the city without the car; in the mood of that morning, the chauffeur’s presence would have been a constraint.
She turned downtown. Bright towers blazed in the noon light. In every one, in hotels, offices, and stores, people were busy, buying and selling things, making things, and talking on the telephone. She felt disconnected, thinking of all those busy people. It was as if she were in a foreign country, listening to conversations that she couldn’t understand. And she knew that she had been feeling this way too often, and that it was sick, and that she must do something about it.
Weakness swept over her. She sat down on a bench with her back against the wall that divided the park from Fifth Avenue. The weakness was in her mind, she knew that perfectly, for the last baby was already six months old and her body had already regained its strength.
The idea that had seeded itself when Ben had been killed, had rooted and grown. She had torn it out, but it had grown back. The idea was that Donal had known too much about Ben’s death. What horror! The man who slept beside her, who fathered and guided her children. No, it was not possible.…
A wind came, scattering rusty leaves on the sidewalk. It was too cold to be sitting there. And conspicuous, too, just sitting alone on a bench, watching the buses roll downtown. Abruptly, she stood up, blindly collided with a woman who was walking in the opposite direction, and stammered her apology. Had the woman looked puzzled? Was there anything strange about her that people could notice?
The new nursemaid, the one who had come to take care of the baby, Agnes, had looked at her like that just this morning. She’d looked at her queerly, with reproach, when she had scurried in to take the baby away. The twins had been plucking at Meg’s dress for attention while she was holding the baby, when all at once a terrible anger had risen in her, and she had pushed them off, shrieking—she was positive she had shrieked—Get away! Get away! If you don’t stop this minute, I don’t know what I’ll do. And they had howled in fear. Then the baby had begun to cry, and she had been holding its face to her cheek, weeping into its neck, and that was when the nurse had come running … she was a disagreeable woman who would have to be gotten rid of.
Meg kept on walking and thought: I don’t really want to go to Leah’s, but I don’t want to go home either. Maybe I should go to Leah’s. Maybe not.
There was a gold lamé dress in Leah’s window. Its matching cape was bordered in sable. If Donal were to see it, he would make her buy it. It was a dress for what people called “making an entrance.” An entrance was what Donal loved and she hated.
A saleswoman met her at the door with a coaxing smile. “You were admiring the lame? It’s a new length, midcalf. Patou has just introduced it in Paris.”
Leah rescued her. “Meg! How nice!” And then, “Is anything the matter?”
Alarm sped through Meg. “Why? Do I look strange?”
“No, no. I thought … have you had lunch?”
“I’ve been busy. I’ve been walking.”
“Come back here into this dressing room. I’ll get you some tea and cookies. Not much of a lunch, but better than nothing.”
Meg sat down while Leah went for the tea. Leah knew there was something wrong. The light, dispersed three ways by the triple mirrors, showed a pale, drawn face and a body hunched in the chair like an old woman’s. She straightened herself.
“How’s the baby?” Leah inquired.
“Fine. She’s sitting up.”
“My memory’s usually pretty good,” Leah said, “but I’ve forgotten her name.”
“It’s Agnes.”
“Of course. I knew it began with an A, but I don’t see them that often, and you have so many, one gets mixed up.” Leah swung her legs. Her two-toned pumps were correct with her beige Chanel suit and the gold necklaces. “But now I promise I’ll remember all your kids. Lucy, Loretta, Agnes, Tommy, and Timmy.”
I screamed at Lucy and Loretta this morning. Poor little scared things! I screamed. Tears filled Meg’s eyes.
Leah turned away. Through the blur of tears, Meg could see the smart foot, the handsome silk leg still swinging.
Leah said gently, “Quite a family. Five childr
en in five years. God bless them and all that.”
Meg dried her eyes. “I know,” she whispered.
Leah spoke more firmly. “Meg, you don’t want any more babies. You’re wrecking yourself. Your nerves are shot to pieces.”
Meg set the tea aside. “But I don’t understand why. I’ve so much help, I hardly lift a finger. I’m ashamed. Poor women in cold-water flats, women who have nothing and no one, have enormous families. How can I dare complain?”
“What makes you think those poor women don’t wreck themselves, too, and fall apart? Some can stand it and some can’t. Some even want it. You don’t want it and you can’t stand it. Look at yourself,” she said roughly now. “Look at yourself. How long are you going to go on like this? Will you have five more in the next five years?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you have the strength to stand up to him?”
“I try. But you know Donal. People don’t stand up to him.” She heard the tiredness, the hopelessness, and at the same time the foolish sound of her words.
And Leah said, “That’s too stupid. I’m sorry, Meg, but I have to say it. You’re a grown woman and it’s your body. Besides, it’s not as if it were a matter of religion with Donal. You told me so once yourself, right here in this room, you told me.”
“I know.”
“What is it, then?”
“I guess you could call it a quirk of some sort.”
“Some quirk! No, my dear, it’s power. Making you do what he wants, and all the more delightful because he knows you don’t want it. Bending you to his will. I’m not saying he doesn’t enjoy all the kids. He’s got money enough to bring them up in style and show them off. Some people really do like having a houseful, especially when they don’t have to bear them.”
Meg was silent. She was thinking: I wish I were like Leah. How strong she is, with her husband only one year gone! I suppose you have to be born that way. All the clever fashionable women who work here look as though they could handle anything or anybody. They look superior. Perhaps they really are superior.
Leah asked curiously, “Tell me, Meg … you must resent him terribly. Don’t you?”
That, too, a direct question like that, was something only a woman like Leah could ask without flinching, or could answer if she were asked it.
“Sometimes I think I do,” she answered softly.
“But then, when you get into bed, I suppose—”
Meg blushed; it was as if the other woman had seen through the very bones of her forehead into the secret places of her brain.
“All right, never mind. I see I’ve embarrassed you. But you’ve given the answer anyway.”
And Meg said, “Not altogether. There are other things. His business.”
Now Leah’s face tightened and shut, as if a door had been closed. Then it opened partway. “As to that, I can’t say anything. It’s very complicated. Beyond me.”
What must be Leah’s thoughts about Donal and Ben? What had they been, even before Ben died? But she would never tell. Because of the nature of the “business,” which brought about its own secrecy.
“But I can advise you on one thing, Meg. I told you last year. See a doctor and get a diaphragm. You’re a fool if you don’t. I can’t tell you any more than that,” she said severely.
“And he wouldn’t find out? You’re sure?”
“He wouldn’t find out.” Now Leah was patient. “You remember, I told you about that doctor who used to come here with his wife. It’s so sad, she died last month. He came in with his two girls to cancel an order she had made for a coat. He’ll give you an appointment this afternoon. He’d squeeze you in, if I asked him.”
Alarm sped through Meg. “Specialists don’t give you an appointment the same day.”
“He would. He’s awfully nice. I didn’t charge him for the coat, although it had been finished. Funny thing, it was Marian Werner who finally bought it.” Leah stood up. “Let me go in and call him now. Maybe you can go right over.”
Leah moved so quickly! Meg sought more time. “Isn’t it strange, I keep having babies and don’t want any more, while poor Marian—”
Leah stopped at the door. “Well, you can say ‘poor Marian’ and I know what you mean, but you could look at it another way, too. She’s got a man in a million, and I don’t think she even knows it.” Her eyes flashed. “Let me tell you, if he gave me the signal, I’d make a play for him in a minute, and I wouldn’t mind telling him so.”
“You would really tell him?”
“Of course not, silly. And I’ll have your head if you ever mention it to anyone. But if he made one move toward me, married or not, I’d jump. That’s what I meant. Well, I’ll go make that call for you.”
I shouldn’t think Paul would jump, Meg said to herself. She was at the same time aware that she was being really too naive and very unfashionable for a young woman in 1929, when adultery was fashionable; you had only to read the novels and the news to know that it was.
“He says you can come over at three o’clock. I told him that you were feeling rather desperate. He’s very kind. You can tell him everything. Don’t be afraid, Meg. Here’s the address.” Leah’s voice followed Meg right to the door. “You’re looking brighter already, now that you’ve made a decision. That suit looks fine on you, but you should carry a different bag. One of those honey-colored alligators would be nice to spice it up.”
It was late, after the commuter rush, when Meg got out of the local train. The short fall day was gone, the little station plaza was brightly lit, and the taxis had all been taken. As she stood waiting for the next one, she became conscious of a small, quiet change in herself, a sensation of settling. The smell of burning leaves, a comforting country smell, was in the air; she straightened taller to breathe it in. The afternoon’s adventure had, after all, not been so bad. The doctor had been extraordinarily kind. His manner, in spite of his youth, had been almost fatherly. She had hardly needed to explain herself and had been so grateful for that; it would have added humiliation to have burst out crying. At one moment only had she come close to doing it, when he had asked her whether it might do any good for him to speak to her husband. She had flung up her hands in such alarm, that he had at once reassured her.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Powers, there’ll never be anything in the mail, not even an annual reminder. I’ll leave it to you to come in. That’s how you want it, isn’t it?”
She tried now to recall what else he had said. That a woman must guard her health or she would be of no use to anyone, let alone herself. That a person shouldn’t be afraid to admit it when her endurance was gone.
“Every one of us knows what it is to be overwhelmed,” he’d said. “Don’t try to fight it alone. Reach out for help.” And he had given her a look both merciful and acute.
He had known she was falling apart. She’d felt at once that he liked women, by which she meant that he cared to understand them. Some men didn’t really like women, except in bed.…
A taxi drew up. Meg got in. The pleasant suburban streets were empty, for families were already home at dinner, and as she realized how late she was, the morning’s panic began suddenly to rise again. Her unusual absence would be questioned. Valiantly, she thrust the panic down, scolding herself: Act your age, you’re not a child who’s been discovered at the candy jar. And she clutched her purse, which now bulging with the box that had been added to its previous contents, would scarcely stay shut. The box held guilt, it held fear, and it held relief. An odd mixture.
Donal reached the front hall before she had even closed the door behind her.
“What in blazes happened to you? I thought you must have been in an accident—I don’t know what I thought. And dinner was ready an hour ago. You’ve got the whole house upset.”
Well, this was a normal reaction: worry and anger and relief.
“I’m sorry. I had a hard time in the city getting a taxi to the train and
the same on this end.”
“What were you doing on a train? What’s wrong with the car?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t feel like taking it today.”
“Didn’t feel like—what kind of a queer idea was that?”
“Let me go upstairs and put my things away. Then we can have dinner and talk.”
“I’ve had dinner. I got tired of waiting. You can’t treat servants like this. They want to get through with their day, not stand in the kitchen till all hours.”
“I’m not asking anyone to stand in the kitchen. I’ll make a sandwich for myself. I’m not hungry anyway.”
He followed her up the stairs. Even on the carpet, his steps were heavy behind her.
“Now listen,” he said as he closed the bedroom door, “this won’t do. I want to know what’s wrong in this house. You’ve got a car and chauffeur at your disposal, yet you run off to New York like—like I don’t know what! Why? Where’ve you been?”
Meg breathed deeply. “Well, I went to see Hennie and stopped in at Leah’s, did some shopping—”
“Why didn’t you take the car, I asked?”
“I felt like being alone.”
“That’s crazy. What are you hiding? You were crying this morning.”
“I was not. Who told you such a thing?”
“Timmy did.”
“He didn’t, Donal,” she said steadily.
“All right, then, it was Helga.”
Naturally. The help always preferred the man of the house to the mistress, especially when the man looked like Donal, and was Donal.
“When you were so late and I was so concerned she told me what happened this morning. Don’t try to lie your way out of it, Meg. Are you sick? What are you hiding?”
They were standing almost toe-to-toe. She had not taken her coat off and still clutched her purse to her chest. Since he was not much taller than she, their eyes were almost on the same level. How was it possible that his—they were after all, only lenses—could convey through their dark glitter so much threat? Nevertheless, she made herself meet their stare.
