Fortune's Hand

by Belva Plain

  Devlin, tipping far back in his chair so that he was almost horizontal, lit a cigar. “Eddy tells me you’re interested in a house,” he said.

  With some guilt, for Robb had confided the matter of the house to him with an injunction not to repeat it, Eddy explained, “I only meant he admired the property, the whole concept you have. He went there when he bought an interest in it. A very small interest,” he added hastily.

  It was Robb’s place to speak. “Yes, it’s beautiful. But I’m not considering a move.”

  “Why not? You can have a good deal, the model house practically at cost. It’ll be great for you and great for the project, to get the ball rolling.”

  He could have said truly: Yes, I’d love it. It’s out of the question, though, because my wife doesn’t want it. As it was, however, he had no wish to attract Devlin’s attention to Ellen in any way, so he said simply that he could not afford it.

  Devlin made a sound rather like a snort. “You can’t afford it? With all your investments and every one of them sound as a rock?”

  “I meant ready cash, especially since I have to take care of this new commitment for my boy.”

  “Your boy, with God’s help, may never have to go to Wheatley. In that case, a house out in the country would be wonderful for him and for all of you.”

  With God’s help or not, eventually Penn will end up at Wheatley, Robb thought. Only the other day he had run away again, grinning like a mischievous toddler.

  Devlin, breaking into the thought, continued, “We’re going to have a community there, one of the finest communities in the state. Large houses mean families, young people for you and younger ones for that pretty daughter of yours. If you want horses, there’s plenty of room for a small stable. There’s a river for boating, and of course you’ll build a pool. That won’t cost an arm and a leg, either, because it can be done right along with the excavation. You’d be a fool to turn down an offer like this.”

  Robb’s thoughts ran on from the wide sky down toward the river and back up the grassy hill.… If he were to press hard enough, she would give in. But it would be an ugly business, and he did not want to do it.

  “Of course you can,” Devlin said impatiently now. “I don’t understand some of you lawyer fellows. And some of you don’t even understand the rudiments of business, although a person would expect you to. I spent a good half hour, last week when I was at your office on my own affairs, trying to get young Fowler to consider a house out there. He was worse than you. He wouldn’t even take a look at the area. Says he’s quite content where he is. Stick-in-the-mud. No imagination. Imagination is what makes this country go around, my friend.” He looked at his watch. “Well, I’ve got to run. Think it over, but don’t take too long.”

  “Thank you. I’ll surely think it over. And thank you for everything else.”

  Robb was puzzled. Out on the sidewalk, he questioned Eddy. “What’s Devlin’s interest in selling me a house? Why should he care?”

  “That’s simple enough. You have a well-known name. Of course, if he could get a Fowler or Harte, it might be—I’m speaking frankly—even more valuable to him. But your name is prominent enough. You see, Devlin won’t admit it, and I’m telling you in strictest confidence—he bought too far out in the country. In two years you’ll see a rush into that area, anyway. You can already see it coming. But for right now, he needs some good publicity, a prominent name to get the ball rolling. It’s as simple as that. And he’s right. You should do it. You’ll never regret it.”

  On a Saturday evening after another long lapse of weeks, Robb told Ellen that he had invited Philip Lawson to lunch the next day.

  She had been reading poetry. Slowly over the past weeks since Robb had in turns told her, persuaded her, cajoled her, tried to convince her, retreated into a chilly, unbearable silence, and finally informed her of the accomplished fact, she had taken refuge in reading.

  Now she put the book down, and staring at him, demanded to know what on earth had made him invite Philip.

  “Why not? He hasn’t made his fourth-Sunday visit in I don’t know how long. Besides, we owe it to him. He’s the one who did all the investigation of Wheatley. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be where we are.”

  She did not want to see Philip. She was too close to the edge of something, either anger or tears or both. These feelings of hers were bad for everyone, most of all bad for Julie, in her vulnerable adolescence. She herself was vulnerable. She did not need to see Philip Lawson.

  But he came. Perhaps he had not wanted to and had not known how to refuse Robb’s invitation.

  “Good to see you,” Robb said heartily. “Unlike Penn and my wife, I don’t get to see you very often.”

  Ellen and Penn had not been seeing Philip very often, either. In fact, they had missed the last four appointments. She had simply telephoned to report that there was nothing new to say about Penn’s behavior, and Philip had agreed that there was in that case no need to come. She was touched now to see Penn who, although he could not have any idea how long it had been since he had last seen Philip, run toward him with such delight.

  “Philip!” he cried, and Philip hugged him.

  Julie came forward in a hostess’s manner, smiling and graceful, with hand extended. At such moments she was barely recognizable as the same girl who yesterday had gone happily whooping through the house with her friends.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Robb said. “I barbecued the chicken myself with my own special sauce, not out of a jar.”

  They went toward the dining room. Philip included Ellen in his general greeting, but he had not looked at her. And, passing the mirror above the chest in the hall, she regarded herself in the jade green dress that, while it was not at all unsuitable for the time or the place, had been chosen rather more carefully than usual for the time and the place. Green enlarged her eyes. They were enormous now, and her face was hot.

  “Well, Philip. I suppose you’ve heard all about our new house,” Robb began.

  “I knew you were thinking about it some time ago, but I didn’t know you were doing it.”

  “What? Ellen hasn’t told you?”

  Philip could certainly have replied that Ellen had not been bringing Penn to see him for many weeks, but did not do so. He merely shook his head.

  “Well, we’re old friends here,” Robb said, “so what’s the point in hiding things? Ellen’s not happy about the move, and I’m not happy about that. But I’m not as unhappy as you might think, because I’m sure she’s going to love it after she gets there.”

  Philip was busy eating his piece of chicken. Ellen passed the salad.

  “Julie’s thrilled, anyway,” Robb said.

  Julie spoke eagerly. “Dad and I went looking at horses last Sunday. It’s so wonderful to have your own horse! There’re so many beautiful trails, one right along the riverfront. We’ll have a little stable near our house. Mom, you should have your own horse. It’s just as easy to buy three as two.”

  “Your mother doesn’t think we’ll be there long enough for us to invest in one,” Robb said.

  His tone was moderate, even pleasant sounding to anyone who did not know the resentment that lay beneath it. Under the surface, smoothly raked, there simmered a persistent fire.

  And Julie continued, “It’s only a wooden framework now, but you can already figure out where the rooms are going to be. It’s so exciting to see a house grow out of a hole in the ground. I can’t believe it will be finished by fall, but they say it will be.”

  “Oh, it will be,” Robb said. “Devlin’s got one of the best architects in the profession. I had been hoping to get my own man, and I admit to being a little disappointed, but since they do want a uniform style, or I should say a consistent, harmonious style, he’s going to design all the houses in the development. I can understand that.”

  In the long pause, Philip said, “Yes, of course.”

  Somebody had to say something, Ellen thought, and “Yes, of course” was as good
as anything.

  “After what he did for Penn,” Robb began, “I could hardly object to—”

  Penn spilled his milk. A cold white stream slid over the cloth and over his thin cotton shirt, provoking a howl of anger merged with a wail.

  “It’s nothing, nothing,” Ellen soothed. “We’ll get a dry shirt. Let’s go to your room. Julie will wipe the table and bring you another glass of milk.”

  “Chocolate! I want chocolate.”

  “Yes, yes, there’s a good boy.”

  She would have liked to remain upstairs. The atmosphere at the table was false; Robb’s vexation, her own dejection, and Philip’s plain discomfort were all masked. But conversation, no matter how false, must continue.

  Julie’s enthusiasm, though, was real. It was still bubbling when Ellen returned. “One of the men showed Dad and me the blueprints, which made it even clearer. It’s absolutely huge. I bet it’s twice the size of this house, or even more. The front hall is going to be as big as our living room.”

  “That’s an exaggeration, Julie,” Robb said, glancing at Ellen.

  “Oh, I don’t think so, Dad. I’m sure it will look even bigger because it doesn’t have a ceiling.”

  “No ceiling?” Philip asked politely.

  He doesn’t care a damn, Ellen thought. He is bored with this endless subject of the house.

  “She means,” Robb explained, “that the hall is two stories high. There’s a skylight.”

  “And circular stairs. Winding, I mean,” added Julie.

  Ellen, fetching things from the kitchen, took more time than she needed to. Philip was talking to Penn, while Robb and Julie were still bandying descriptions, when she came back to the dining room. You couldn’t blame Julie. For her, at her age, never having been anywhere different, never having known change, this move was high excitement. And the prospect of owning a horse was the highest.

  Little Julie! As tall as I am, thought Ellen, and with far more knowledge than I ever had at her age, she still knows nothing. Nothing. And pity akin to tears moved softly within her.

  They were still talking, the father who treasured his daughter and the daughter who adored him. The others were quiet now. Philip buttered a roll. Ellen cut up Penn’s second helping of chicken, he being still a trifle clumsy with slippery food.

  “There. Now you can eat it,” she said. And raising her head, saw obliquely in the round mirror above the sideboard that Philip was watching her.

  There was no time for her to read his expression, assuming that it was at all readable, because aware that she had caught him, he addressed her. These were the first words he had spoken directly to her since his arrival.

  “I suppose now, once you move, I won’t be seeing Penn as often?”

  “I guess not,” she answered, and then amended the words. “Whenever and if he needs—” and stopped.

  Eyes meet and normally turn away as soon as speech ends. Eyes move. They do not hold on and keep holding for seconds that seem like minutes.… She picked up her fork. Food had no flavor in her mouth. He was a psychologist, not a wizard to give magical answers. And yet, he must have some perception of her bewilderment. Or perhaps of his own bewilderment?

  Without sound, she was crying: I sit here with my husband, Robb, and our children. I am who I am.

  Then, doing what was expected, she brought the dessert to the table, joined the group afterward on the porch, and heard without listening to it the conversation. In little more than an hour, it was over. There was a last small flurry of talk, centered compassionately around Penn, when she heard Philip’s murmur at her ear.

  “Accept the house. It will be better for all of you that way.”

  They watched him go down the path and turn to wave at the end. As usual, there were comments about the departing guest.

  “A fine man. Character,” Robb said.

  “I love Philip! I love Philip!” Jumping and shouting, Penn clapped his hands.

  And Julie, giggling, said clearly, “Remember, Mom, when I said he liked you?”

  Robb countered, “Why shouldn’t he like your mother?”

  “I meant something else. Really like. You know.”

  “You were younger then,” Ellen said quietly. “You’re too old now for such stupid remarks.”

  “Mom!” Julie was offended. “Mom, I didn’t say ‘now’! And if he ever was like that, you can certainly see he’s over it.”

  “Go on in and help Mom with the dishes,” Robb said, “and stop your foolishness.” He was amused.

  The new house rose out of the earth with the inevitability of wheat or corn in a good season. It had a semicircular driveway and a huge parking space described as a necessity for entertaining large groups. It had a kitchen with a restaurant-sized stove, seven family bedrooms, a game room, and an exercise room large enough for a health club. It had wide bays, many windows, and a conglomeration of shapes, angles, and peaks in a borrowing from so many styles that in the end it had no style.

  Ellen stood before it, appalled. Ugly, it was. Ugly and expensive. She had not seen it in many weeks, although Robb and Julie had faithfully every Sunday charted its progress.

  “Over there where you see those new shrubs,” Robb said, “there’ll be more coming. This is just the start of the fall planting season.”

  She nodded. Having resolved to conquer her sinking heart, she was thinking about how to build a life in this alien, cold place. Robb seemed so proud and happy! She owed this loving, good husband every right to be proud and happy. And yet, it was incomprehensible that he, with his refined taste, could be so misled about this.

  “You don’t like it,” he said.

  “The view is absolutely breathtaking.”

  “Have you any idea what this is worth?”

  “A great deal, I suppose.”

  “Is that all you’re going to say?”

  “What else should I say?”

  “Stiff upper lip, in other words.”

  Her reply was gentle. She was not going to let the jibe draw her back toward anger. “Robb, shall we quarrel over this forever? It’s settled, it’s finished, and I’ll make a home here for us.”

  “I want us to be happy here, Ellen. You and I have had our worries almost from the start, and we’ve come through in one piece. Don’t let a mere house divide us.”

  The word ‘divide’ was a jolt. Down before her were Julie and Penn, coming back from the river. They waved, and their parents waved back. Divide? God, no!

  “Julie’s thrilled with the horses, two beautiful honey-colored mares. Wait till you see them, Ellen.”

  He was cajoling her, begging her to feel some of his joy. And something occurred to her: Had she fully considered that living here might mean as much to him as staying where they were had always meant to her? The thought, piercing, moved her to take his hand and promise him that everything would be just fine.

  He put his arms around her, and they stood there watching Penn and Julie climb the hill.

  Moving day fell during Halloween week. On the lamppost at the foot of the front walk, Ellen hung the cardboard skeleton. For the last time, she placed her pumpkin heads at the front door beneath the stone tubs in which marigolds had replaced the summer’s geraniums. On a table inside the entrance, a huge punch bowl waited, as always, to be filled with sweets. From house to house through the late afternoon and into the early evening, small ghosts and pirates would come, demanding trick or treat. To their delight, she would pretend not to recognize Sally’s twin girls, or the Williamses’ red-haired boy, children of neighbors and of friends whom she had known all her life.

  In the autumn twilight, she walked around the yard saying good-bye. Here were the birdhouses, vacant now, waiting for new tenants in the spring. Here were her mother’s peonies. There stood the sovereign beech, towering twice the height of the house. It was fashionable wit these days to speak of “tree-huggers,” but Ellen was one, nevertheless. And she broke off a stalk of leaves to press and keep.

 
Then with calm demeanor, she returned to the last chores that must be finished before the move. Robb’s wish was fulfilled, and Julie was happy. She herself had made her peace. But she had an odd feeling, as though a door had unexpectedly clicked shut in a silent room. It was not merely that they were leaving here. It was something larger, a termination.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  1994

  The grass beneath Robb’s feet as he took his early walk was still wet from an all-night rain, but the early May sunshine was strong, and by late morning when Julie would be ready, the bridle paths would be dry.

  Robb’s Julie! Now that she was away at college in the north, the waiting time between her vacations passed too slowly: from mid-winter to spring break, from summer job’s end to August, and then all around the calendar longing for her return, as one longs for a cold drink, a warm fire, or a cool breeze, all the refreshments of life. The man who got Julie would be a lucky one, and whoever he was, he had better treat her right, Robb thought fiercely. At the same time he was amused at himself for being like every other father of a daughter, forgetting what he himself has done to another man’s daughter.

  The taste of shame came to his mouth. True, the taste was not as strong as it had been last year when—God knows why—he’d had that little “affair,” the last thing he had ever intended to do with his life. It began at a party, on one of those overnight trips to look at property. Somebody had brought some girls in. He’d had a few drinks, not many, because he’d never had any real craving for liquor. But it is not always easy to stand aside when everyone else is partaking of the fun.

  If it had stopped there, fun was all it would have been, over and forgotten with nobody hurt and nobody the wiser. The girl however—let her be remembered, if at all, as “the girl,” with her name blanked out—wanted otherwise. She had called him at his office, which was not far from where she worked, and they had had dinner one night.

  “We had a good time, didn’t we?” she said.