Treasures

by Belva Plain

  Lara gave her a quick look. “You don’t look well, darling. Are you terribly unhappy?”

  “As a matter of fact, no. Not terribly, that is.” Her legs were shaking now. “Why are we standing here? Sit down. I’m awfully tired.”

  She remembered then that Lara would want dinner. There were vegetables and chops in the refrigerator, but the thought of getting up to prepare them daunted her.

  “Actually, I’m not feeling well. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

  “No,” Lara said decisively. “It’s your nerves, and no wonder. You’re going through a crisis. Shall I make you some tea?”

  “It’s dinnertime. You must be starved. Wait a few minutes, and I’ll go get it ready.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Stay right there. I can find my way around your kitchen.”

  Like Peg, Connie thought.

  “What a sumptuous kitchen!” Lara called.

  She heard the slam of the refrigerator door and the clink of a pot, cheerful, domestic sounds, reminding her again of Peg. And she was ashamed of having been so unwelcoming to Lara. I really am wrung out, she thought again, and closed her eyes.

  When she opened them, Lara was standing in front of her holding a tray with a lamb chop, a salad, and a cup of tea.

  “You look too weary to sit at the table, so I’ve brought the tray. But maybe you should have it in bed.”

  “No, I’m fine here. It’s lovely. You’re too nice to me,” Connie said. The kindness made her eyes tear. “You always were.”

  “Come on, come on. Now, I’ll sit here with you, and if you feel like talking, do. And if you don’t, don’t.”

  “You made the salad dressing, didn’t you? It’s good. I don’t bother with meals much anymore.”

  Lara reproached her gently. “You should. You mustn’t neglect yourself.”

  And seating herself with a tray on her lap, Lara began to eat, while at the same time, with anxious concern, observing Connie. “Do you want me to talk, Connie? I don’t mean about your troubles either. If you want quiet, just say so.”

  “Talk, of course. And as to my divorce, I’ll tell you tomorrow. It’s a long story.”

  “All right, then, I’ll tell you something about myself. First, we’ve decided to buy that house. Eddy convinced us that we can afford it.”

  “Really? Oh, I’m glad! It’s a lovely house.”

  “Wait. There’s bigger news. I almost don’t want to talk about it until it comes true. And you’re the only one I’m telling. But we think—we expect to have a child.”

  “You are pregnant, then! Oh, my God, how wonderful! You’ve wanted it so. But you don’t look it, you don’t show. When will it be?”

  Lara shook her head. “No, darling. I’m not pregnant, and I never will be. We’ve finally made up our minds to adopt, that’s all.”

  “Oh. Well. That’s wonderful, too, isn’t it? Tell me about it. I’ve heard one has to be on a waiting list for years, though. Is that true?”

  “Well, I hope not. It’s much easier if one agrees to take an older child. So it won’t be a baby. But we don’t mind.”

  “Oh.” The brief vision of Lara holding an infant, a miniature edition of herself, had vanished. “Boy or girl?” Connie inquired brightly.

  “Whichever we find first. In the meantime we’re getting the spare bedroom ready until we can move.”

  Connie had a swift double vision: the sterile glare of that room this morning when something had been taken away, and the bright clutter of another room which Lara would be filling now with toys and noise and—

  “I hope it won’t take too long to leave that dreadful flat behind,” she said.

  Lara said, smiling, “I’ve never found it so dreadful,” and Connie smiled back. “You wouldn’t. You never complain.”

  It was pleasant to be there in the quiet with her sister, and she was glad, after all, that Lara had come. The food and the hot tea began to revive her. Then she remembered that she had eaten nothing since that morning and said so.

  “Whatever made you go all day without eating?”

  An odd thought, possibly induced by Lara’s concerned expression, that tenderness of eyes and voice, crossed Connie’s mind: I have always been cared for. First, there was my mother—father, too, in his way, but mostly Peg—then Lara and then Richard. From this thought came a sudden desire to tell everything to Lara now. And starting at the end of her tale she said, “The reason I’m weak is that I’ve just come back from having an abortion.”

  Lara’s fork clattered onto the plate. “You what?”

  “I had an abortion.”

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing!”

  Lara’s body seemed to go limp. Her lips parted, and her head bent forward. She had been instantly, totally stunned. And Connie’s heart began that panicked fluttering again.

  “I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left him, not that it would have made any difference,” she explained. “You don’t know about Richard. He wasn’t a bad person, he was very good, but I couldn’t stay because he was—”

  Lara flung up her hand. “What does Richard matter? I don’t care what he was or what he did, but you—you killed your baby!”

  Of course. This was how Lara would see it! And Connie reproached herself: I should have kept my mouth shut. Her eyes are absolutely fierce.

  “I didn’t exactly love doing it,” she said as quietly as she was able. “But it was necessary, Lara. I had to.… And anyway, it wasn’t: even a baby yet. It was the size of my little finger.” In the face of those eyes, gone dark with horror, she stammered, “Or something like that.”

  “You’re lying to yourself. The size! The size! It was alive, breathing and growing, and you murdered it. I—damn you, Connie! I’d have given years of my life to have a child of my own, and I still would give them. Is it fair? God, is it fair?”

  Lara jumped up, knocking over her tray; blue Wedgwood broke, and meat gravy splashed brown on Connie’s new beige carpet.

  “The carpet!” gasped Connie. “It’s ruined! Ruined! And it was just laid last week.”

  She rushed to the kitchen for club soda and rags. Lara picked up the broken dishes. For a few minutes nothing was said while the two women, on their knees, worked to repair the damage.

  “It’s almost out,” Lara said at last, as she rose to her feet.

  Connie, burning, assessed the destruction. “ ‘Almost.’ That’s a big help! A light brown stain instead of a dark one.” And it seemed to her that this accident, minor and trivial as it might be, was just the last straw on her pile of woe.

  “I’ll buy you another carpet,” Lara said.

  Connie, sure she had heard scorn in Lara’s voice, flashed back, “You? You can’t afford what this cost.”

  “Well, I’m sorry. People have accidents. I guess it’s not my day.”

  “It certainly isn’t mine. I should be having a quiet evening, pulling myself together, instead of this.”

  “It should take some pulling together after what you did today.”

  Through bitter tears Connie cried, “I’m not psychologically prepared to have a child right now! Can’t you understand that? I’m in the middle of a divorce. What kind of a home could I offer it?”

  “I would have given it a home. That baby—that baby was a part of Peg, a part of her that would have gone on, and you destroyed it. God knows whether Eddy will ever have children. I certainly won’t. I’ll never get over this. Never.”

  “That’s your problem! I’m going to make myself get over it. I have no choice.”

  Lara’s flushed face was mottled. Her nose dripped while she fumbled for a handkerchief. She seemed to have crumbled into complete disarray, like a heartsick, tired old woman.

  And Connie pleaded, “Why are we quarreling over this, Lara? If you think I was wrong, well, it’s your privilege to think so. Let’s understand each other. But I can’t undo what’s done, can I? And anyway,” she finished gently enough, “it really w
as my business, my decision, my sorrow.”

  Lara shook her head. “I can’t help thinking over and over, What would Peg say? Can you believe she would ever have done it?”

  This new reference to their mother stung. It was too painful, it was irrelevant and did not belong here in this room on this night. So Connie’s answer was sharper than she had perhaps intended.

  “Peg was never in my circumstances. Furthermore, Peg did things I wouldn’t do, like staying on with a lovable drunkard, for instance.”

  “Oh, my God, how can you say such a thing about her?” Lara wailed.

  “Because it’s true. It hurts me to say it, but you know very well she never wanted to face facts. Don’t you be like that too. Please, Lara.”

  “I faced them well enough all those years when I brought you up. And I’m the one who did bring you up, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember.” Lara’s kind hands doing her hair. Lara’s kind face in the schoolyard at three o’clock … “But I’m not the little sister now, taking advice at your knee. Sometimes I wish I were. Life was easier then.”

  “Advice like this you never got at my knee. If I thought you had I would never forgive myself.”

  “Lara, let’s stop this before it goes too far. You mustn’t try to run my life anymore.”

  “I never tried to run your life, Connie.”

  “You’re trying now.”

  “That’s what you think of me? Well, I’ve heard everything.” Lara sobbed. “I came here to help you, came out of love, and this is what I get for it. This.”

  Suddenly Connie felt hot. She could feel the heat rising from the very central pit of her body. And terror rose with it. Emotion and conflict could be the cause, but infection also could be the cause. And the sight of Lara’s futile tears infuriated her. She lashed out.

  “If there’s anything I despise to see, it’s people feeling sorry for themselves.”

  “I’m not sorry for myself. I’m sorry for you, Connie.”

  “Well, don’t be! I’ll get along all right. In fact, I’ll get along just fine,” she said, not meaning it.

  “This is what you call ‘just fine’? You’re a terrible disappointment, Connie. Terrible. I can only hope that somehow you’ll straighten out your life. I can only hope.”

  “Sanctimonious. Holy …” Connie muttered under her breath.

  “I heard you. I heard you!”

  “So you heard me! Will you just please let me alone? I can’t stand any more preaching or moaning. Just let me alone!”

  “Oh, I’ll let you alone. Indeed I will. I’ll bother you no more.” Lara ran to the closet. “Where’s my coat? I’m leaving, Connie. You just go ahead and run your life your own way. And good luck to you.”

  This violence, this rupture, was too ugly to bear. Again Connie’s legs went weak. She had to sit down.

  “Wait, Lara. What are you doing?”

  “Taking the first plane home,” said Lara, fastening her coat.

  “You won’t get one at this hour. Wait.”

  “Then I’ll sleep at the airport.”

  The door clicked shut.

  For a while Connie sat staring at the door’s blank face. Presently she got up, walked past the pathetic stain that would exist as a reminder of this day as long as the carpet lasted, and lay down on the sofa in the den. Never, never had such stormy anger come between her sister and herself, or for that matter, among any of the family! Anger simply wasn’t their way. This sense of outrage must have come up from deep within Lara, from a deeper place than she herself knew existed, perhaps so deep that she would be lost to Connie forever. And the pain within Connie was now palpable, a knot, a clenched fist in her chest.

  The room was absolutely still, the charming room that she had planned, with the English-country-home effect that she had desired. The curtains were drawn for the night, shutting out the world, accentuating the stillness. She sprang up and pulled them open onto the city, onto the street below where life moved.

  Life. Only this morning, a few hours ago, she had been accompanied by another life, now gone. A strange thought came fleeting: We would have loved one another. I would have loved you, even though I didn’t want you. A strange, lonely thought.

  Tomorrow she would tell Eddy what had happened. Or maybe she wouldn’t, just yet. He had his own affairs, he was a busy man, and he had already done so much for her. Maybe, though, she might just ask him for some advice. It would be long before the art courses could materialize into a really important job. So in the meantime, should she think of going back to work in a boutique? There had to be something to fill the days. She needed advice.

  The little dog crept around her feet, and she bent to stroke it. Its love was pure and simple. It, unlike the human animal, neither judged nor disappointed.

  “Without you, Delphine,” she whispered aloud, “I don’t know how I’d get through this night.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lara looked across the small parlor to where Davey was sitting, as if to find affirmation. This was the final moment, the climax, the arrival after some months’ journey through time and some miles’ journey through a fading autumn countryside to this plain clapboard house in a plain clapboard town. Now here they were. And she was suddenly conscious of her thundering heart.

  Mrs. Elmer was an unpretentious gray-haired woman of the type often described as “motherly.” And for the last half hour she had been relating a sad, simple story.

  “Susanna is a very intelligent little girl, but she’s lived through what I call a war. Her father died in a factory accident while her mother was pregnant. The mother, an immigrant from eastern Europe without family, was so devastated that, although she did take good care of the child, she was not able to provide the happiest environment. Then, when she herself fell ill with leukemia—well, you can imagine.”

  Lara’s eyes never left Mrs. Elmer’s face. “Who took care of Susanna then?” she asked.

  “Neighbors. First one family and then another. When, after the mother died, they weren’t prepared to keep her, the state took charge and she went to a foster home.”

  “A good home?” asked Lara.

  Mrs. Elmer shrugged. “Let’s say, not a bad one. Now I’ve had her here for the last two weeks, after your telephone call prepared the path for a possible adoption. I’m sort of a way station. They come and they go.”

  Davey spoke. “Is she a very, very frightened child, would you say?”

  “Actually, I think she’s been remarkably brave in the circumstances. Nothing’s ever lasted for her. Nothing. She’s in first grade, and has already changed schools three times. What she needs is permanence and a lot of patient love.”

  When Davey asked, “Are there no relatives on the father’s side either?” Lara knew he was concerned lest some stranger arrive in years to come to claim her.

  Mrs. Elmer understood immediately. “No, not a soul. If you adopt Sue—she likes to be called that—she’ll be your child without question. Now, would you like to see her?”

  Davey smiled. “I think we’re ready, Mrs. Elmer,” he said.

  “I’ll go get her. They’re all playing in the yard.”

  He came over and laid his hand on Lara’s shoulder. Feeling the tremble of the hand, she thought, This is how he would be if I were giving birth, only it would last longer and he would be walking the length of the corridor getting in people’s way, lighting and relighting his pipe with these trembling hands—

  At that moment the door opened, and the woman returned, urging a small girl ahead of her, a thin child with extraordinary blue-black eyes in a narrow, delicate face, and a long brown ponytail. And Lara’s immediate reaction was a kind of shock: She doesn’t look at all like either of us. I’ll never have the quiet joy of seeing Davey or part of myself in her. Then, swiftly, she admonished herself: There is no perfect joy, Lara.

  “Sue,” said Mrs. Elmer, “these are Mr. and Mrs. Davis. Will you shake hands with them?”

  Fearfully, the child
raised her gaze from her own scuffed shoes and looked down at Lara’s shoes. A small, cold hand was held out, and an almost indistinguishable word was murmured.

  I mustn’t cry, Lara told herself. And softly she said, “Sue … We’ve heard so much about you, about what a lovely girl you are. So we wanted to bring a present for you, a surprise. It’s in this box. Do you want to open it, or shall I?”

  As if unsure what answer would be the right one, Sue waited, and Lara said quickly, “Here, we’ll do it together. You hold one end of the bow, and I’ll pull it open.”

  Under layers of tissue paper lay the most extravagant, the most beautiful doll that could ever be imagined, a perfect little girl with real blond hair, an expressive face, and a party dress of white lace and pink ribbons.

  The child stared, not touching it.

  “Take it, pick her up,” urged Lara.

  Still the child just stared.

  Mrs. Elmer spoke almost pridefully, “You see how well behaved Sue is.”

  Lara and Davey glanced at one another with a common thought between them: She’s well behaved because she’s terrified. And lifting the doll out of the box, Lara placed it in Sue’s arms.

  “She’s yours, dear. She wants you to love her. What would you like to name her?”

  This time a reply came promptly and clearly. “Lily.”

  “Oh, I like that name,” Lara said, while above Sue’s head Mrs. Elmer’s lips moved silently to say, “That was her mother’s name.”

  I can’t bear this, Lara said to herself.

  Suddenly, passionately, Sue clutched the doll to her chest and ran with it to the armchair at the other end of the room.

  Davey’s raised eyebrows, furrowing his forehead, asked a question of his wife, a question similar to her own: Should we? Will this child’s problems be more than we want to undertake?

  And yet, what child brought to live among strangers, wrested from whatever home it once knew, did not carry problems in its baggage? Some baggage was heavier than other kinds, that was all. Only an infant could come without memories.

  Mrs. Elmer drew her chair close to Davey’s and Lara’s, out of Sue’s hearing.