by Belva Plain
“It is like a dream,” she said.
“It isn’t a dream. The first time I saw you, when you came here with my sister, I said to myself, ‘I’d like to marry that girl.’ And I haven’t stopped thinking of you since that day. Norma knows. She told me how wonderful you are. She told me all about how hard you work, how smart you are. Not that I didn’t see enough for myself—So … so, can you? Will you, Amanda?”
“You haven’t known me more than six weeks altogether. Are you sure?”
“I couldn’t be more sure if I’d known you since you were born.”
When he drew away and grasped her hands, his plain face glowed. And she was touched by the joy that she saw there. The look that he gave her was so glad, and yet so wistful, that it filled her with tenderness, so that her eyes filled with tears.
After a while, long past midnight, Larry took charge of practical matters. “We’ll be married right after your friend Cecile’s wedding. It wouldn’t be right to steal their thunder. Maybe you won’t believe this, and don’t laugh, but in my daydreams this past month, I’ve been considering getting a house for us. There are four or five nice places for sale, a couple of colonials and a couple of ranches with everything on one floor, that you might like. Each one has a good yard, with old trees. I’ve noticed how you love trees.”
A house right at the start? Marriage and a house, all at once?
“You look so happy,” he said.
“I am happy.”
And, as the unbelievable events of the last few hours became believable, as the shock of it ran like fire through her very bones, she really was happy.
They were whispering at the guest room door. “You don’t know how much I want to go in there with you, Amanda.”
“Not a good idea,” she teased, glancing toward the father’s door.
“Wait till we tell them in the morning.” Larry was elated. “Norma won’t be surprised, but my father will probably be stunned. Or maybe he won’t be. He knows I have a way of making quick decisions.”
“And standing by them?”
“And standing by them, Amanda darling.”
Whatever his private thoughts might be, and Amanda had a good idea what they were, Lawrence Balsan said the proper things the next day. At least, in her presence, he did.
“Well, you’ve certainly picked a beautiful bride. As to your wedding plans, this house and the yard are yours. Indoors or outdoors. You select.”
Amanda had made clear to Larry that a wedding at her family’s home was an impossibility, and he had obviously informed his father accordingly. As to her own people, Larry had a good conversation with each of them in turn, parents, sisters and brothers, cordially urging them to come for the wedding and stay here as long as they wished. Then, accepting with grace their explanation of why they could not come, he promised to keep in touch and to consider them all as his new family.
“Do you feel very sad that they won’t be here?” he asked.
“Well, yes, but not as much as I would once have thought I’d be. After four years of college, you get used to being apart. In a way, I feel closer to Norma than to them. Yes, I’ve actually been closer to her, living there together.”
Most generously Larry had offered to pay for her family’s trip to Michigan, and also generously had accepted their reasons for not coming: the painful leg, and the time already lost away from the job. To these Amanda could have added: proper clothing and a certain shyness, for they had never been more than two hundred miles away from home.
It had not been necessary for her mother to explain this, so well did they communicate without words.
“Amanda, you know, you must know how happy we are for you. Later, as soon as you and Larry are settled in your own place—it will be more intimate, you understand. Oh, he sounded so nice on the telephone, I could feel that he’ll be good to you.”
* * *
For Larry, in the real estate business, the summer months were the busiest; on many an evening and many a Sunday also, he was out showing houses. Most of Amanda’s time, then, was spent with Norma and her women friends at the town pool or the town tennis courts. These were lovely, leisurely days, the first leisurely stretch of time with no obligations that she had ever known.
Larry had given her his mother’s engagement ring, a round diamond that called forth admiration, and undoubtedly some hidden envy, from Norma’s group. Amanda had no idea of its value, since mere size could, as she had read, be deceptive. She had also read somewhere that round-cut stones have a special brilliance. At any rate, it was a great pleasure to stretch her hand out into the light so that the stone flashed sparks. Cecile’s chip of a diamond had been too small to flash.
Cecile had been out of sight since Commencement Day. First there had been Peter’s commencement in New York, then after that shopping for the wedding and for the apartment which they had taken close to his job, some twenty miles distant from the Newmans’ house.
“We should go for a drive some afternoon,” Norma said one day. “You haven’t really seen anything of this city outside of the neighborhood, and you need to, now that you’re going to live here. Maybe we’ll go as far as Cecile’s house, just to pass it, since she’s not there now. Incidentally, I mailed her a clipping from the paper, the one Dad put in about you and Larry.”
Amanda laughed. “I sent her one, too.”
And she thought how odd it was that things like having one’s name in the paper, just as Cecile had had hers, and wearing a ring on the left hand, just as Cecile did, made a person feel equal.
“We’ve grown,” Norma told Amanda as they drove downtown one day. “Once we were a big town, one of the biggest in Michigan, but now we’re a small city. Or maybe not so small. Here along the river is where we got started, with shipping. Mostly grain, later on tires, steel, cement—the works. Today, every big corporation west of the Mississippi has a finger in our pie. These past few years we’ve been getting the new technology. Look over there. Every few months another tower raises its head.” Loving history, analysis, and explanations, Norma was a good teacher. “And naturally, people are spreading into the suburbs, farther and farther from the river, while this area that we’re coming to is falling to pieces. Here’s the old station. You can see how elegant it was, grand as the ancient Roman baths. One of these days, I guess, they’ll be doing something with it, and with the switchyards, too. Twenty-seven acres of rusting rails and rotting sheds going to waste. The railroad is naturally holding out for the right price, the conservationists want it, and the whole thing’s a mess, nothing’s been done. It’s all politics, anyway. Now here’s Lane Avenue. Isn’t it a disgrace for people to live in slums like these? Look at the school! Can you imagine spending all day in a dreary dump like that? The only cheerful-looking sights here are the prostitutes. Don’t laugh. Look at these two. They may be prostitutes, but they are pretty, aren’t they?”
“Who around here has money to pay them?” asked Amanda.
“Customers don’t have to come from these streets. They come from everywhere. Some of these buildings have rooms for rent, or even a whole flat to lease. A man can drive in from his country estate in half an hour. Very convenient.”
“I’m certainly getting an education. I had no idea.”
Norma laughed. She hadn’t thought Amanda was that naive. “Country girl! Well, just don’t ever accept any invitations to a party on Lane Avenue, will you?”
“Okay, I’ll remember not to.”
“Here we go, over the bridge to some fresh country air.”
The landscape changed abruptly from concrete to grass. First the city fell behind, then there briefly appeared a few miles of suburban houses in their neat yards, and after that, as a curtain is lifted or a door is opened, came space. Wide, free, and blooming space.
Long driveways led toward great houses, glimpsed in their tall, protective groves. White fences enclosed a field where horses trotted around a training ring. Ducks floated on a pond. Brown-and-white cows graz
ed near their fine stone barn with a weather vane on its roof. A mild, softly gilded peace lay on the hills and the road that wound among them.
Amanda was unusually silent, and Norma began to wonder whether she might be bored by all this scenery, so she inquired, “Are you enjoying this trip or not? Tell me. We can go back if you want to.”
“Oh, no! It’s beautiful. It’s a kind of paradise.”
The moisture in Amanda’s eyes moved Norma to cry out with all her heart, “I am so glad my brother found you!”
“I’m glad, too,” Amanda said, smiling.
“You’re so right for each other. You are lively, he’s quiet; you are emotional, he’s reserved. Opposites attract, and they should.”
“Larry’s not entirely reserved, I assure you.”
“Well, I meant—oh, I might as well come out with all my thoughts while I’m at it. Larry’s a strong man, but he’s not using all his strength. This is hard for me to say, but truth is truth, Amanda. When a young man is in business with his father, it can get complicated. It’s not that our father isn’t a good one, and devoted to us, but—well, you’ve sat at the table with him often enough by now to have a pretty good idea of what I mean. He rules. That sums it up. He rules. It must have been hard on him when Mama died, leaving him with a twelve-year-old boy and an eight-year-old girl to rear. But he did his best, and we certainly didn’t have any serious complaints to make. We had good care, and the house was peaceful. But it wasn’t what you’d call a jolly or a happy house. So that’s why I’m glad for Larry. Well, enough of that. Want to pass Cecile’s place? It’s only a few minutes away from here.”
The long, low house lay gleaming in the sunlight. At the foot of the driveway, where the gates were flung back to their stone pillars, she stopped the car.
Amanda gave a low cry. “This? This is Cecile’s house?”
“Yes. Pretty, isn’t it?”
“I thought—she said she lived on a farm! I had no idea—this doesn’t look like any farm I ever saw.”
“Well, it is a sort of farm, what people call a ‘gentleman’s farm.’ If you’d spent more time here I’d have taken you to see it before this. It’s really lovely. They have animals and crops, and the house is what is supposedly farmhouse style.”
“Can we go in, just for a peek?” Amanda was astonished and excited. “What do you think? Can we?”
It had not occurred to Norma that Amanda would be so totally astonished. But sometimes—rarely—you do get inside another person’s head, and at this moment, only for a moment, Norma became Amanda in her blue Sundale uniform.
“We won’t peek. We’ll go right up and ring the bell. The Newmans knew me when I was five years old, and if they’re not home, the maids still know me. Come on.”
It was Cecile’s mother, Harriet, who answered the door. As often before when she had not seen her for a long time, Norma was startled by her likeness to Cecile, having the same smooth, dark hair, the same figure, just slightly broader, and even, on this particular day, the same Scottish plaid kilt fastened by a large pin. No doubt Amanda, who noticed and remembered things like that, had also observed the kilt pin, nor would she have missed the welcome in Mrs. Newman’s eyes. Even the house spoke welcome, with its comfortable chairs, its flowerpots, and its pair of barking retrievers.
“And this is Amanda,” Norma said. “You had a quick glimpse of her on graduation day, and now she’s here to stay.”
“Amanda!” cried Mrs. Newman. “I knew all about you long before that quick glimpse; southern, very smart, very good-natured, and very pretty, Cecile told us. I’m so sorry she isn’t here today. She’s gone shopping in town.”
“I thought you wouldn’t mind if we dropped in,” Norma said.
“Mind? Of course not. Wait till I get Amos. He’s out in the garden, as usual. He should have been a gardener. Come this way. I’ll show you where the wedding’s going to be. Pray Heaven it won’t rain that day. Oh, well, if it does, we’ll all squeeze inside. How is everybody at home, Norma? Your father? Your brother?”
“Both well, thank you. Larry’s doing especially well. He’s going to be married this summer.”
“Wonderful! I only met him once, but I remember that I liked him. He made an impression. Who’s the bride?”
“Right here. Amanda.”
“Really? That’s so lovely, Amanda! You three roommates staying nearby, like a family. I remember how all my best friends separated from one end of the country to the other. Yes, this will be lovely for all of you.”
They had gone out through the wide central hall onto a terrace, from which a few steps descended to an expanse of greenery. Beyond these, in a rolling distance, rose a tier of low hills.
On the step, Amanda paused. “I’ve never seen hills,” she said. “There are none where I grew up.”
“Well, people think we’re all flat corn and wheatfields in the Midwest, and mostly we are. That’s why these hills are so precious. There’s Amos in the rose garden. I see the top of his straw hat.”
Amos Newman was so tall that the top of his hat could be seen above the brick enclosure. He had a long, lean head to match his height. When Norma and Cecile had been very small, he had used to let them ride, each in turn, on his shoulders. This memory returned whenever Norma saw him. Kindly memories, she thought now, as she announced Amanda’s engagement to Larry, and went through the usual pleasantries. Kindly memories and kindly people, she thought, too; simple and unassuming in the midst of what almost everybody would describe as “splendor.”
Amanda exclaimed over the roses. “Such marvelous colors! And the wedding will be right here?”
“No, no. This is much too small. It’s my English garden, enclosed within four brick walls to keep the wind out. I built it for my special roses, and—look here—I’ve been experimenting with some fruit trees, espaliered, but I haven’t been very successful with the fruit. I forgot this isn’t France’s or England’s climate.”
Amos’s smile was rueful. Now, as long as he could be sure of a listener, he would get back to his roses. For a moment Norma waited, and sure enough, Amanda had at once perceived what Amos was waiting for.
“These are very unusual, Mr. Newman. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before.”
“I’ll bet you haven’t. They’re Near Eastern roses, called Phoenicia, accurately named. Very, very rare. I’m propagating more in my little hothouse. And these, come see, these are Autumn Damask. They bloom all summer until October. There are two rows of them in the main garden, right where they’ll make an aisle for the wedding. You’d think somebody had planted them with that in mind, but I’ll swear I didn’t. Come, I’ll show you.”
“Amos,” his wife protested, “not everybody in the world is a rose fancier.”
“Oh, but I am,” Amanda said quickly. “It’s not that I know anything about them, I just simply love these colors. And the fragrance!”
“You need old roses for fragrance,” Amos explained as the small procession left the walled garden. “These huge hybrid teas that look so gorgeous have hardly any.”
Dutifully, the women followed him past perennial beds, box hedges, and althea bushes which, he pointed out, were members of the rose family, although one might not think so.
Amanda was following every word with deep interest, and Norma was amused, imagining how she would give the same attention to Larry’s real estate ventures. Amanda knew how to please people.
When the garden tour was over, they were invited, almost commanded, to have tea on the terrace. Nothing had changed since Norma’s childhood. In the field on the left, the Guernseys lay under the trees chewing their cuds. Next to the table, the dogs waited for a treat. A maid brought the silver teapot, the blue Wedgwood cups, and the big shell-shaped service plate bearing the cookies that were so familiar to Norma.
“Madeleines!” she exclaimed.
Amanda also exclaimed, “Then that’s what they are! I always wondered when I read Remembrance of Things Past. So they’re
not cookies, but more like cakes.”
Mrs. Newman was impressed. “You’ve read Proust?”
“Not all seven volumes, but I never mention that. It’s nice to let people think you have read them all, though.”
Amanda laughed at herself, wrinkling her little nose. She was charming.
The afternoon was drowsy. I could stretch out on the grass and watch the leaves quiver overhead, Norma thought. The conversation became only a soft murmur without meaning except for an occasional phrase.
“After the cow broke her leg, she had to be shot.” This in a regretful tone from Amos.
“Peter has a starter job not far from here.” This from Mrs. Newman. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Cecile and he will be looking for a house before long and consulting Balsan Realty.”
Now came the scrape of chairs as people stood up, and Norma became alert. Amanda was kissing Mrs. Newman and giving thanks for the lovely visit.
“This has been so beautiful. I’ll never forget it.”
“You won’t have to think about either forgetting or remembering. You’ll just naturally be coming here often as soon as Cecile is back.”
“Let me take one more look!” Amanda cried in her silver voice.
At the edge of the terrace, she stood in her grace gazing out toward the violet hills.
“There’s a beautiful girl,” Amos whispered. “Your brother has good taste.”
Isn’t it a strange thing, thought Norma, that in all innocence a man can speak to me about another woman’s beauty? Unthinking, he—and how many others besides him?—takes it for granted that I do not feel the contrast. I wonder whether Amanda can have any idea how lucky she is.
Back in the Balsans’ guest bedroom, Amanda sat at the window with her chin in her hands, staring across the street at the house that Larry called a “sister house” to this one. They had been built before the First World War, and they were well constructed, he explained, made to last. That might be, but suddenly they looked ugly to her, square and boxy with bay windows bulging like frogs’ eyes and a porch sticking out in front like a bullfrog’s belly. Little kids were riding up and down the sidewalks on their toy tricycles, screaming at each other. Big boys ground by on skates with a noise that set your teeth on edge. The street was dreary and too crowded.
