Treasures

by Belva Plain

  “Well, what do you think?” she asked. “Do you think you want her? She’s really a sweet child.”

  The question was an eager endorsement, too much like salesmanship. As if they were buying a new car: Do you want it? It’s really a good buy.

  “She has good manners for a six year old, hasn’t she? She’s really been no bother. I’ve seen children who haven’t gone through as much as she has, who cry and have tantrums, which is surely understandable, heaven knows, but it’s hard to deal with.”

  Davey was paying no attention to Mrs. Elmer. And Lara, following his look, saw that Sue was rocking the doll in her arms and smiling. The smile, most feminine and most endearing, would, Lara saw, go straight to Davey’s heart, obliterating there any last regret he might have over not getting a boy.

  That smile, unselfconscious, as if Sue were alone in the room, went straight to Lara’s heart too. She had a sudden revelation: I can make happiness bloom again in this child. The result will be worth the effort. Almost gaily, she thought—silly, frivolous, happy vision—oh, I will braid her hair when it grows longer, I’ll make one thick braid with a ribbon bow at the tip, I will—

  “Of course,” Mrs. Elmer was saying very low, “your taking her depends on whether she wants to go. I will not send an unwilling child away from here. You wouldn’t want it either.” She raised her voice. “Sue, will you come over here? We want to ask you something. Would you like to go home with Mr. and Mrs. Davis?”

  Lara made a correction. “Aunt Lara and Uncle Davey. That’s what we’d be if you would come to live with us.” And yet she felt a pang of regret that she would very likely never be called “Mother.”

  But those eyes, so black and lustrous! The piteous plea as they were raised to Lara, studying Lara’s face. Were they saying, Take me! Take me! Or were they saying, I don’t want you. Let me alone.

  “We’ve been wanting a little girl like you,” Lara said, trying not to coax too blatantly, wanting just to seem friendly. “We have no children in our house. You’d have your own room. It’s painted yellow and white, and the shelves have wonderful toys, a carriage for Lily, a little kitchen—”

  And still, wasn’t this talk merely bribery? On the other hand, why not? What other way to lure a six year old?

  “And if you’d like to have a puppy—” Davey began.

  “A real live puppy?”

  “A real one.”

  Solemn again, the child said, “I’d like that.”

  “You’ll go to school,” said Lara, “and have lots of friends. I know some nice girls for you to play with.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Well, there’s Betty and Jennifer and Lisa. Oh, lots more.”

  Careful now to do nothing abrupt or alarming, Lara put her arm very loosely around Sue’s waist.

  “We shall love you very much,” she said.

  There was no answer. Yet, what answer might she have expected?

  “Will you come with us, Sue? It will be a nice long ride home. I think we’ll stop for ice cream cones on the way.” More bribery. “So will you come?”

  Sue paused. The pause seemed very, very long. Oh, I want this child! Lara cried to herself. There’s something about her.… I want this child.

  “Will you?” she asked once more.

  “All right,” said Sue.

  And Davey, almost tearful himself, spoke with a catch in his throat. “How fast can we get the basic legal preliminaries over with so we can get back to Ohio?”

  “It won’t take long,” said Mrs. Elmer.

  And so it was that Susanna Davis went to her new home.

  All was not to go easily, nor had the Davises expected it to. True, the first hours went well enough. The drive home was enlivened by many stops for food, a sailboat ride on Lake Michigan, and shopping in Chicago, which was most necessary, since Sue’s entire shabby wardrobe fitted into one suitcase.

  Trying on a winter jacket, she pranced in front of the mirror. A wholesome, greedy pleasure in the total new experience of receiving things lessened her shyness so that at one point, behaving like any normally secure young girl, Sue actually rejected one of Lara’s suggestions. This touch of spirit encouraged Lara.

  “But I like the red one. I want the red one.”

  “The red one it shall be then, Miss Sue.”

  Then, saying so, an echo sounded in Lara’s head, an echo of her own voice years before saying something like that to another little girl who always had such decided ideas about her wants.

  “Whatever you say, Miss Consuelo.”

  It was a year since that tragic night in New York. After it weeks had passed during which the hurt and smart of Connie’s words had increased. “Ruining my life”—how cruel and untrue! And as to what Connie had done … To take a life that could have grown to stand in front of a mirror like this skinny little thing here preening herself in the red jacket …

  If Connie could be standing here now, with us— Lara thought. She should have called me. All these months … She should have. And I know Eddy told her we were going to fetch this child. At least she could have called to wish us luck. For an instant Lara’s throat was choked; then the lump receded, leaving an ache of grieving resignation. And she turned back to the moment, to her new little girl.

  Arriving home, they found Eddy in a rented car parked at the driveway.

  “For Pete’s sake,” cried Davey, “look who’s here!”

  “I figured you’d be arriving about now, so I grabbed a plane, rented a car, and here I am. I didn’t want to miss the homecoming.”

  There he was, the old familiar Eddy, breezing in as always with his glad enthusiasm, filling the air with welcome and rejoicing.

  “Look at this pretty kid! So you’re Susanna! I’m your uncle Eddy, so do I get a kiss?”

  Lara looked dubious. She wanted to caution him: Not so fast. Don’t frighten her. But Eddy had already lifted the little girl up above his head, and now, hugging her to his chest, was kissing her cheeks. And Sue was actually laughing.

  Eddy had magic in his very fingertips. Was there ever a human being who could resist him?

  “I stopped in town,” he said, setting Sue down, “and bought a little something for Sue.”

  The little something was a small two-wheeler, bright blue with a bell and a basket.

  ’I’ll bet you haven’t learned to ride one of these, so we’re going to show you how this minute.”

  “Wait, wait!” protested Davey. “We just got here, and we haven’t even opened the front door yet.”

  “Okay, okay, I just want to make sure this fits her.” And lifting her onto the seat, Eddy directed her. “Listen to Uncle Eddy. Put your feet there. No, keep them there. Fine. Now I’ll push you. I won’t let you fall. Fine. That’s the idea. It won’t take you long to learn.”

  So the first few hours passed. Sue was shown to her room; the new clothes were put away, and Lily went to sit on the doll’s chair by the bed. Lara made a quick dinner. Eddy, invited to spend the night, declined.

  “No, I took a room near the airport so I can leave first thing in the morning. Anyway, this first night is for you three to spend together.”

  “Eddy, you’re a prince,” Davey said.

  Eddy laughed. “Call me Wales. Hey, the next time I come, you’ll be in the new house!”

  “Thanks again to the prince,” Davey said.

  Eddy jingled the car keys. “Well, I have to be going. Be happy, all of you.” He kissed them and, leaving, was heard trotting swiftly down the outer stairs.

  “I never realized he was so wonderful with children,” remarked Lara. “He should be married.”

  “He still has a steady, hasn’t he? That girl on Long Island? The one with the horses?”

  “I think so. But he may have ten steadies for all I know. He keeps his private life to himself.”

  After dinner, which Sue ate hungrily, Lara gave her a bath, observing that she was none too clean and that her ribs stuck out. She had had mi
nimal care, poor little girl. When Lara had washed, dried, and powdered her, brushed her hair and teeth, and put on a new white nightgown, she put her into the bed and drew up the pink comforter.

  “Would you like me to read a story, Sue? This is a lovely book. Winnie-the-Pooh, it’s called. Let’s begin,” said Lara confidently.

  “I don’t want a story, Mrs.—I forgot your name.”

  “Mrs. Davis. But to you, I’m Aunt. Aunt Lara. Don’t you remember?”

  And again the thought, the hope, crossed Lara’s mind that someday, perhaps, she would be called “Mother.” Perhaps, too, that would never happen.

  “Will you say ‘Aunt Lara’?”

  “Aunt Lara.” The girl yawned.

  “You’re sleepy.” The delicate face was so white, so wan, in the beam of the nightlight. “It’s been a long day,” Lara said softly, “and we’ve lots to do tomorrow. We have to get you registered at school, ride the new bike if you want to—oh, lots of things. Let me hug you good-night.”

  “How is she doing?” Davey asked.

  “Very well, I think. So far, so good.”

  But deep in the middle of the night loud crying awakened Davey and Lara in their room across the hall. Lara ran. Sitting up in the little yellow bed, Susanna was shaking with deep sobs. Lara took her into her arms.

  “There, there,” was all she could say. The banal words, without meaning in themselves, yet had the utmost meaning when warm arms and a warm voice went with them.

  Anxious, Davey asked from the doorway, “Does anything hurt her, do you think?”

  “Everything does,” Lara answered, and comprehending, he nodded.

  For long minutes she sat with the child’s tears wetting her shoulders, her own tears brimming. No questions were asked, no answers given. There was no need. The child cried because the world was fearsome; she wanted her lost mother; the place was strange; the night was dark. The woman wept because this was not the baby she wanted; she was sick with pity; yet she knew she was going to love this child and longed for the child to return that love.

  So they stayed together holding each other until the sobbing ceased and Sue was laid back under the quilt to fall asleep. But Lara, not leaving her, sat dozing, crumpled and cold, in the rocking chair until the morning.

  Patience, patience was all. It hurt when Sue, defying a command, cried out, “You’re not my mother!”

  Very quietly, Lara answered, “I know that. But since your mother’s gone, I’m the one who will take care of you as mothers do.”

  It hurt when Sue cried at night and clung, hurt to imagine the nightmare that had awakened her. So patience, patience was all.

  Still, little by little, day after day, small changes, almost imperceptible, began to occur.

  Lara’s friends brought their children to play. At first when Sue was invited back, she refused to go. She’s afraid that I’ll leave her there, and she’ll be given away again, Lara knew. It’s not that she loves us, of course not. It’s only that she’s afraid of another change. And something told her that it would be a good thing to speak openly about that fear and about everything, school and all the foster homes and the dead mother too.

  “Tell me, Sue, is that why you won’t go to Jennifer’s house? That you’re afraid you’ll be kept there?”

  Sue’s silence was the answer.

  “Will you go if I stay there with you?”

  A nod of the head was the answer.

  After half a dozen trials of this sort one day Lara left her to go down to her office, which, Davey and she had agreed, must be turned over temporarily to someone else while Sue got adjusted and while they made the move into the new home. When she returned to the friend’s house, Sue was playing in the yard. She hadn’t missed Lara at all.

  “Now,” Lara said, hugging her tightly, “now you see that I always come back to you. Uncle Davey and I will never let you go. Why, even if you wanted to leave us, we wouldn’t let you. We’d find you no matter where you went—even to the moon! And do you know why? Because you belong to us, and we belong to you, forever and ever. That’s why.”

  Fortunately, the first-grade teacher was especially understanding. “In the beginning, Mrs. Davis, I did see tears starting, but always held back, hidden from the other children. She’s a proud little girl. But—let’s see, it’s six months since she came—the improvement in attitude is really wonderful.”

  “She’s very bright,” Lara said. “When my husband and I talk at dinner, we notice that Sue pays close attention. When we use a new word, she wants to know what it means.”

  “And she’s pretty. That means acceptance. You’d be surprised at the way young children gravitate toward good looks.”

  “Thank goodness for Sue’s good looks, anyway.”

  “She’s going to be fine, Mrs. Davis. She’s still unsure of herself socially, she has a way to go yet, but I’m not worried about her. You people are obviously doing something right.”

  Then Lara felt a flood of beaming warmth from head to foot. At least once every day as the months passed and Sue grew closer, she had been feeling that warmth, so that she had to remind herself sometimes to hide it, not to sing out for fear of boring people with the repetition of her hope and joy.

  Bozo Clark, the rock star, wore jeans and ten thousand dollars’ worth of gold chains. He regarded Eddy solemnly from the other side of Eddy’s desk.

  “You’re a winner, Osborne. This is the first year I paid no income tax, not one cent. God damn, I can’t get over it! Can’t really understand it. I know you explained about deducting losses on the partnerships and—”

  Smiling, Eddy interrupted. “You don’t have to understand, Bozo. Just keep making records, and I’ll preserve your millions for you.”

  “Good enough. I’ll be in touch. And one thing,” Clark said on the way out, “that offer stands. As many tickets as you want for any concert, anytime.”

  The last thing Eddy wanted was to be squeezed into a crowd of crazed teenagers while Bozo swiveled his hips and yawped. Bozo would be amazed to know that he preferred the Metropolitan Opera and the Philharmonic. But his reply was enthusiastic.

  “I’ll get a couple of friends together and one of these days soon, I’ll take you up on it. Thanks, Bozo.”

  As soon as the door had closed on Bozo Clark, Mrs. Evans appeared with a silver tray upon which stood a plate of thin-sliced whole wheat sandwiches and a little pot of coffee, also silver.

  “Do you realize, Mr. Osborne, that you had no lunch and it’s after four o’clock?”

  Eddy, smiling, was aware that the smile was sheepish, as if he were a boy being reprimanded by a loving mother. He enjoyed this little byplay, enjoyed having a dignified, gray-haired widow with an upper-class British accent in his service. Most men looked for a secretary who was curved in the right places, who knew how to display the curves, and was on the right side of thirty. But Eddy had a different sense of the suitable.

  “You take too good care of me, Mrs. Evans.”

  “Well, if I didn’t keep after you the little bit that I do, you’d work yourself to death. Now, I’ll put this down on the coffee table and you can relax in the wing chair. Relax and unwind.”

  “I’m starting to do it right now. As soon as I eat, I’m heading out to the country. It’s worth the Friday traffic to have two grand summer days when you get there. And you go home, too, Mrs. Evans. You could do with some unwinding yourself.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Osborne. I believe I will. And I’m leaving orders that you’re not to be disturbed.”

  Eddy stretched, uncramping the legs that had been tucked under the desk since morning. It had been a wearying day, and yet as always, he was exhilarated by this very weariness. If that was a contradiction, an oxymoron, let it be; it was the truth. No doubt a mountain climber grasping his pitons at ten thousand feet knew exhaustion, but he pressed on to eleven thousand feet nevertheless, and felt joy when he reached it.

  “I’m climbing my mountain,” he said aloud into
the quiet room.

  Or he might even say that he had already climbed it to the peak. For here he was, established at last in this, his third and final office, the perfect place he had dreamed about. It filled a floor and a half of the building. He had an able staff of forty, not counting secretaries. The business hummed like a dynamo, making money. Every minute, every second, counted, making money. Phones rang, the ticker rolled. Computers wrote, while the bright young men and women conferred at their desks. Oh, these were the exciting eighties, and Eddy Osborne was at the very center of the excitement!

  When he looked out the window, westward to the Trump Tower, southward to Rockefeller Center and the Empire State, eastward to Sutton Place, northward to the Park and the Museum, it resembled a diorama; the gray-white towers were neat miniatures, so that leaving this private oasis to plunge down in the elevator, and emerge onto the pavement into enormity and a cacophony of horns and fire sirens, was total shock. Yet he loved that shock.

  This room is marvelous, he thought. Even the Royal Worcester sandwich plate caught the right note. The decorator was a genius; he had read Eddy’s mind. At the demolition of a nineteenth-century hotel downtown, he had salvaged the mahogany paneling that now burnished these walls. It had the warmth of age, with a few dents to validate it, such as one would find in a London club. In such a club, too, the enormous Oriental rug would be richly dark, faded in areas where daylight had touched it for half a century or more. From a corner a tall clock would strike the hours with a rattle and chime; Eddy’s tall clock, bought last year at auction, was an authentic piece out of the seventeen hundreds, and it had cost him almost two hundred thousand dollars. There were, of course, even better specimens to be had; very likely he would get rid of this one sometime and replace it with a better.

  His affairs were going well enough, he reflected, to warrant his buying almost anything he might want. Anything at all. Often when he woke up in the middle of the night, or when suddenly passing a mirror or a plate glass window while hurrying along the street, he felt himself startled by a brief, flashing sense of unreality. Then, feeling the air on his face above the blanket or, as the case might be, feeling the ground firm beneath his shoes, or recognizing his own young face, newly shaved and nicely tanned under his healthy thatch of hair, he admitted the astonishing reality.