Treasures

by Belva Plain

  Yes, it was true.

  “Such a good sister! So devoted.”

  That was true too.

  “Martin says you should get another opinion,” Connie reported one day.

  “We’ve had a half dozen, and they all say the same thing. Wait.”

  “Wait for what? Is anything happening?”

  Nothing was happening. The weeks went by, the snow melted, spring came with lilac and forsythia, and still Peggy lay asleep, the sweet head quiet on the pillow.

  In the beginning of the third month they were summoned together to the hospital. The doctor, obviously troubled at what he had to tell them, spoke somberly.

  “We’ll have to face it. There’s nothing more we can do for Peggy here. I think you should be looking at a chronic care facility.” He looked away at the wall over their heads. “That’s about it,” he concluded.

  Davey let that sink in for a second or two. Then he whispered, “Chronic? She could spend the rest of her life there? Is that what you mean?”

  “She could.” The words were barely audible.

  No longer did Lara or Davey or both of them together spend the whole day at the hospital. The house and the family had to be looked after. An anxious little girl still had to be cared for and cooked for. The Davis Company had to be looked after, too, if there was to be any food to cook. They were both aware of these realities as keenly as of the dreadful reality that waited on the fourth floor of the hospital. And so, like walking ghosts, they did what was necessary, day after day, and waited, for what they did not know.

  From her window in the office wing late one afternoon, Lara looked out onto the parking lot, where a long bank of junipers hid the hard outline of the steel fences, and weeping willows that had been little more than sprouts a few years ago stood like green fountains.

  Idly, because it was so hard for her tortured mind to concentrate, she wondered about the young man in the impeccable suit who had jumped so briskly from his car and gone into Davey’s office. The door opened, and Davey brought him into the room.

  “This is Mr. Harrison. He represents the P.T.C. Longwood Company,” he told her. “And since you’re an officer of the Davis Company, I think you should hear what he has to say.”

  “Happy to meet you,” said Mr. Harrison.

  “Mr. Harrison has brought a proposal. I’ve told him I’m not at all interested, but—”

  “If you’re not,” said Lara, “then surely I won’t be either.”

  “It won’t take long,” the man said. “I’d just like you to listen for five minutes, no more.”

  Lara felt a rise of impatience. “I’m sorry, but we have a very sick child, my brother’s here to see her, and I have to get home.”

  “Mr. Davis has told me about your child, and I understand that you’re under pressure, so I’ll be quick. Here it is: My company—I’m sure you know it’s one of the top hundred corporations in the country—is interested in patents that you hold for several surgical instruments, cardiac, orthopedic and—you’re familiar with them, I’m sure, Mrs. Davis?”

  “Very familiar. My husband invented them all.”

  Harrison smiled. “Of course. So that brings us to a question that I think makes a lot of sense.” Spreading his hands out, he began to count on his fingers. “Here are some of our products. We are a conglomerate, as you must know. We make rubber footwear—your children may wear them, or you yourself may—hospital supplies, a medical book publishing house, electronic parts, and of course our soft drinks. Well, that’s enough to give you an idea of our spread. Our hospital supply division is connected quite naturally with our electronic parts division. And that’s where your patents come in. Not just the patents, actually, but your whole operation. I’m talking, of course, about an amalgamation, a merger. Two fine firms tying up together.”

  Davey smiled this time. “It would hardly be a tying, Mr. Harrison. It would be more like a swallowing. Ours is a small operation, as you can see.”

  “Many smalls make a large, especially when the small one is as fine an operation as yours is. We have a niche for you, Mr. Davis, just the right niche, and once you are a part of P.T.C. Longwood, you wouldn’t be small anymore, would you?”

  Lara did not like this courteous flattery. Not at all. Young Mr. Harrison, she saw, had an iron fist inside his velvet glove.

  “Perhaps we like being small,” she told him.

  He agreed at once. “Oh, I can understand that it has its advantages. But it has disadvantages for you too. Bigness can afford to take risks, the risks that have made this country move ahead.”

  “I know about risk,” Davey said. “This whole business was a risk. It started in my backyard.”

  “I’m sure it was a struggle too. And nobody knows more about struggle than we do. Our president, Franklin Bennett, started in a backyard situation himself. He didn’t have a penny when he was a boy. He pulled himself up all the way to where he is today. So we do understand. But you wouldn’t deny, would you, that if you had had some financial backing when you started out, you could have gone ahead faster? And with fewer headaches, fewer sleepless nights? Think how much more you could be doing even now if you had almost unlimited funds and efficient management behind you.”

  “We’re very efficient,” Davey said. “We don’t need new management.”

  “I meant no reflection on you, Mr. Davis. Quite the contrary. You have a well-run plant and some excellent products. I wouldn’t be here making this offer if that were not the case, would I?”

  “True,” Davey acknowledged.

  Lara thought, I wouldn’t let him waste our time. I wouldn’t be so polite. But then, that’s Davey’s way.

  “Handsome as this plant is, I’d like you to see our main plant in Michigan, where we would move you. You really should fly out and take a look at it for yourself. Then you’d know what I’m talking about.”

  Davey said, “Even if I were interested, which I’m not, Mr. Harrison, I have an obligation to my employees and to this community. They—we—don’t want to move. We have roots here.”

  “You’re saying we can’t do business?”

  “I’m afraid so.” And Davey made a small move as if to rise from his chair.

  Harrison stood up. “This has been sudden, I realize, but it’s not fair to yourself to dismiss the whole thing without some more thought. I’d like very much to go back and tell Mr. Bennett that you’re going to give it some.”

  “Smooth talker” was Davey’s comment when Harrison had gone.

  “I didn’t know we were so famous, did you?”

  “I could do with less fame of that sort,” Davey remarked, somewhat darkly.

  At home, with Eddy and Pam, that evening, he told of the day’s event.

  “Why do you dismiss it like that?” asked Eddy. “Leveraged buyouts are the thing now. You’d come away with a fortune.”

  “I don’t want a fortune.”

  “You didn’t want this house, either, and now you love it.”

  “All right, I was wrong about the house and you were right.”

  “I’m right about this, too, Davey.”

  Davey grumbled. “Bankers! Brokers! They trade businesses as if they were baseball cards. They only understand numbers, not people. Not the hopes and the sweat that go into a place like mine. Talks of moving to—where was it, Lara?”

  “Michigan.”

  “Close this down and walk away from it, just like that! And who knows, after they’d bought us, what they’d do? They call it merging, but what it is is buying, so what’s to say they can’t sell you all over again and send you somewhere else? Vagabonding all around the country,” Davey finished indignantly.

  “Vagabonding? Some vagabond Bennett is! Have you any idea who he is?”

  “I know, Eddy, I know who he is, and I want no part of him at any price.”

  Eddy took a mouthful of food and chewed thoughtfully. “I want to tell you something,” he said then. “It’s not so easy to get away from these
people once they cast an eye on you. If they really want you, they’ll get you. They’ll either buy up the stock or reach your stockholders with such a fantastic offer that they’ll vote Bennett in, no matter how you feel about it.”

  “I don’t think they’d do that, regardless of—past events.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure. Thanks to me …” The words faded mournfully away, and for a moment nothing was said until Eddy, recovering, took up the argument again.

  “You don’t fool with a man like Bennett. He’s got a brain like a steel trap, and he grabs you in a vise like a trap too. If I were you, I’d think this over very carefully before I said no.”

  To this Davey made no answer. And Lara knew that he wanted to shut out the possibility of trouble for the very reason that he was beginning to be troubled, albeit faintly, as was she. Almost certainly, they had not seen the last of Franklin Bennett’s persuasive emissary, she told herself.

  Eddy resumed his cautions. “I still don’t think you people understand who Bennett is. He’s a legend, one of the most powerful corporate executives in America.” There was awe in his voice.

  “I’ve read enough about him,” Lara said. “As far as I can make out, he’s a heartless, greedy tough guy who doesn’t care whom he steps on as long as he gets his way.”

  “What do you care if he can improve the quality of your family’s life? Money’s the ticket, and always will be.”

  “Yes and then again, no,” Lara said. “Mostly no.”

  “Mostly yes, Lara. Think about it. Money won’t solve your problem, but it can ease a hell of a lot if things don’t turn out for Peggy.”

  “Oh, Eddy, please!” Pam reproached him.

  “I know, Pam. But the truth has to be faced.”

  From the basement where Sue and her friends were playing came shrill, rippling laughter, poignant now in the silence.

  Eddy was the first to speak. “I’ve just mentioned the bad advice I once gave you. Now I’d like to remind you that I’ve also given you some of the best advice you’ve ever had. True?” he asked, turning to Davey.

  “True.”

  “Well, all I’m saying is, don’t write Bennett off. Think about it very seriously.”

  Then Pam spoke softly. “Darling, do leave these people alone tonight. They know what they want. And they’ve got enough to think about, God knows.”

  One Saturday Martin Berg arrived. Davey was at work, and Lara had just lain down for a few minutes on the sofa in the den when the doorbell rang.

  “Oh, I’ve startled you,” he said. “Were you sleeping?”

  “No, I was just making a cup of tea.” She lied with the first thought that came into her head, as if she were ashamed to be caught resting in the middle of the afternoon.

  Martin’s eyes examined her acutely. “You look beat. And why not? Go lie down and let me make the tea.”

  She smiled. “Heavens, no. You don’t know how.”

  “I grew up dirt poor, you forget. I guess I know how to use a stove.”

  There was always something commanding about Martin Berg; one didn’t disagree with him. So she returned to the sofa and was still feeling surprised at his coming, when he returned with two cups of tea. He got right to the point.

  “These doctors, I’m not saying anything against them, they’ve done their best, but Connie’s told me their verdict, and we just can’t accept it, Lara. Now, there’s a place not far out of New York, a famous place where they specialize in head injuries. It’s small and always filled up, unfortunately, but I made some contacts this morning, and we can get the baby in. I think we should give it a try, Lara.”

  She stirred her tea, watching the milk swirl in the cup as her thoughts swirled in her head. Without being willing to confess it to anyone, not even to Davey, not even really to herself, she had little hope. Ever since they had spoken of chronic care, she had known this was the end of the road. It was as if her child had died. No, it was worse.

  She looked up at Martin. His eyes were filled with sadness. And he had said “we,” when, after all, the child was not his.

  “I suppose there isn’t anything to lose, is there?” she replied.

  “Nothing except money. And as Connie told you, I am ready—”

  “No, no,” she said quickly. “Thank you, but we have savings, and we’re prepared to use every penny of them if it will help …” She could not go on.

  “It’s a very fine place. I’ve only passed it on the road, but it looks beautiful, and of course its reputation is the best.” He paused, waiting. “Shall I talk to Davey?” he urged then.

  “You needn’t. If I want to try it, he’ll want it too. We were both—we couldn’t bear the thought of that other place, the chronic place. It would be like a—like a warehouse, Davey said.”

  Berg nodded. “I’ll call him tonight anyway, when I get home. I won’t bother him at the plant.”

  “You’re going now?” For Martin had risen.

  “Yes. I’ll be flying back. I guess I could have done this on the telephone, but I didn’t expect it to be so easy, or that you’d accept so promptly. I like that, though. I like quick decisions, quick action.”

  “That’s evident,” she said, and smiled. “You’re a good man, Martin.”

  A good man, and so competent. It was a relief, in a way, to let him take over, to make this decision for them.

  “By the way,” Martin said as she accompanied him to the door, “have you done any thinking about that offer of Bennett’s? I know this is a terrible time to be talking about business, but I just wondered.”

  “Not really,” she replied, and then, curious, asked how he knew about it. “Did Eddy tell you?”

  He smiled. “No, not Eddy. I get around. I hear things. And rumors float fast in my business.”

  “Then you must have heard that we’re not interested. Not at all.”

  “Not even enough to think it over?”

  “We just dismissed the whole idea.”

  “But they won’t just dismiss it, you may be sure. As soon as all their financing is arranged, they’ll be back. I know how these things work. And—”

  “Martin,” she said, interrupting him, “we can’t think about anything. I can tell you that. It’s all too much to cope with, first our child, and then this impossible proposition. Davey’s suffered too much already.”

  “You might welcome the money,” Martin said gently, “especially if—”

  So he, too, meant, if Peggy never recovers.

  “Well, think it over,” Martin advised again as he left.

  She had been so sure of Davey’s acceptance that his reply that night to Martin’s offer on behalf of Peggy was no surprise. What did astonish her was his reaction to Martin’s other remarks.

  “Lara, I don’t care anymore. If they really want the plant, let them take it. Give us some money for it and good-bye to it.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying that!” she cried.

  “Why not? What does it matter? If Peggy were well, you can darn well believe it would be a different story. But as it is, I don’t give a damn.”

  But you will, in spite of everything, she thought. Yes, you will. Yet she said no more. Poor man. Leave him alone.

  And she went outside to sit on a bench in the yard. It began to rain, although the evening sun was still shining; great, slow drops fell glinting and spattered on the stone walk. They darkened the steps next door, where the child had fallen; it seemed years since that night.

  All her senses were tender, as if each had been wounded and could shrink when touched. The wet stone smelled sharp and bitter. A car went by with a blast of hideous rock music. In the house Sue and her best friend Amy were having one of their noisy, though fortunately infrequent, fights. Dear Sue. These had been dreadful months for her too, with all the gaiety gone from the family.

  Then, mercifully, the silence flowed back, and she closed her eyes, feeling the soft rain on her face, not minding it.

  Why us? she thoug
ht. Why me? And the answer came, as clear as the sound of the rain or the wind in the new-leaved trees: Why not you?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  They took Peggy, then, to a new place, a smaller one surrounded by pleasant, expensive trees; otherwise, nothing was different, for when at the end of the day they walked away from her, she was still lying in a bed connected to monitors and tubes. Lara asked no further questions, and Davey, too, had gone silent. It was as if they both had learned that there were no answers. Passively, they stood gazing down at their child while Connie took charge, talking in turn to doctors, to nurses, and to administrators.

  “If only she were to die,” Davey murmured once. And Lara knew that the words had come unbidden; he was quite probably not even aware that he had spoken the thought aloud. She took his hand and kept holding it as they walked out to Connie’s car.

  “You’ll stay with us here, of course,” said Connie, addressing Lara. “Davey can fly in weekends. We’ll keep the plane available.”

  “Oh, but I can’t. There’s Sue at home.”

  “Bring her here,” Connie said promptly.

  “School isn’t out yet. Besides, we can’t disrupt her life any more. She’s scared, she’s been through enough as it is. I will accept the offer of the plane rides, though. It’s a godsend, Connie. Martin and you are godsends.”

  So a routine began. As the plane descended toward the Westchester Airport, Lara, looking down, would see her sister, a bright red spot or blue or white, waiting and waving. Then there would be an embrace, an anxious question, and an answer.

  “I went yesterday. The same.”

  The hospital visit would follow, and that, too, would be the same. Lunch at Cresthill would be brief so that Lara could fly home early.

  One day while at the lunch table, it occurred to her that she had not seen Thérèse for weeks, and she asked why.

  Connie hesitated. “I thought—to tell the truth, I thought it might be too hard for you to see her.”

  Lara’s eyes filled. “Oh!” she cried. “Oh, the world mustn’t stop because of Peggy! Do call her. I want to see her.”