by Belva Plain
“Thousands of people did the same,” Emma pointed out gently. “You wouldn’t be as angry at anyone else as you are at Leo.”
“What makes you defend him, may I ask?”
“Well, I can see that behind his rudeness, he’s afraid of his own shadow.”
After a pause, Adam said, “Perhaps you’re right. Now listen, we’d better talk to James. He whispered to me that Uncle Leo is ‘awfully funny-looking.’ ”
“I’ll talk to the boys tomorrow. Let’s have dinner and spend the evening in front of the fireplace. Pa will feel strange going to bed in a strange place tonight.”
“Do you think so?”
“Well, wouldn’t you if you were here as a dependent who was going to die here?”
There was a moment of silence until Adam said gravely, “You understand people so well, Emma.” Then smiling, he added, “Even me.”
On the mantelpiece a fine old mahogany clock stood between two pots of miniature roses in bloom. Above it hung a large watercolor of fishing boats in moonlight. Below it, the fire crackled and snapped.
“A palace,” Simon murmured as he looked around the room. “A palace.” He sighed. “Look what Leo is missing.”
In this second week he was still in awe of the house, still mourning his losses, still unsettled.
“You remember what Mr. Shipper told me about 1907,” Adam said. “It was a calamity. Banks failing and stocks falling, but the country recovered. And it will again, Pa.”
“I don’t expect to see it. Look at AT & T. It was three hundred ten. Now it’s one hundred ninety-three. General Electric was four hundred three. Now it’s one sixty-eight. RCA was one hundred fourteen. Now it’s twenty-six. Ah, life is all troubles. Something goes along fine for a little time, and then before you know, it rises on its hind legs and pushes you over. It’s all an accident, like your finding this spot on the map. You had never heard of it. You could just as well be freezing in Alaska tonight. All you had to do was close your eyes and put your finger on a spot.”
“It’s not quite like that,” Adam said gently.
“Yes, it is. Look at poor Blanche. One bullet, a small thing not as big as your finger, and look what it did to her. It ruined her life. That was a real, true love affair. When she tries to help Leo, she’s thinking of Jonathan, because he would want her to. She’ll never get over what happened to him. None of us will.”
“Leo’s books got here today,” Emma said, “and I sent them on to his apartment. There must have been a hundred of them in those crates. What can they possibly be?”
“I don’t know.” Simon was obviously impatient with a question that he had often before been asked. “He’s been doing this for years, that’s all I can tell you.”
“Pa,” said Adam. “I know you must be thinking of our big store here, and I wish I could offer Leo some kind of position in it. But I am not the supreme boss by any means, Pa, and Leo would have to make his own offer and his own impression.”
“No apologies, Adam. It’s all as plain as the nose on your face. They wouldn’t take him. And he wouldn’t take their job if they begged him to.”
Later, Adam proposed that before going up to bed, they should go outside for a look at the stars.
Looking up from the terrace, Simon was awed. “This is the largest sky I’ve ever seen.”
It was one of those nights that was bright with untold numbers of stars. Emma remarked that even after reading some of Adam’s huge books of astronomy, she understood nothing.
“Nothing except their names, but not what they mean. What do you think, Pa?”
The old man thought for a while before he replied. “As it says in the prayer book, I pray that it may someday be given us to understand.”
It seemed strange that Sabine, who had been so sturdy, had suddenly, in fewer than ten days, died, while Pa, who had been sick for several years, still lingered and might well go on, as the doctor said, for many more years.
He was even becoming acclimated to the life of the house. He called Emma a treasure and told Adam to take good care of her because she was “one in a million.” He praised the comfort of his room and swore that he had never enjoyed such cooking as Rea’s. He was in love with his grandsons, especially with Andy, whom he called “the red-haired rascal.” When Emma was giving a piano lesson, he sat in the living room with the door open so that he might enjoy the music. As spring approached, he strolled outdoors and found the first daffodils pushing up toward the sun.
Visitors came, and it pleased him if they came to see him. It pleased Adam, too, when Reilly and Archer came on Sunday mornings, when Blanche occasionally spent an evening, when Cace Arnring’s top executive spent a half hour with Simon Arnring, or when an old lady, one of Sabine’s surviving friends, arrived with a box of cookies for Adam’s father. Leo, too, sometimes visited—in the afternoons when Adam was not home.
One day there came a change. On a Sunday filled with wind and rain, Simon stayed in bed. As he entered the room, Adam saw at once that this was one of those rare times when Pa was going to break his reserve and speak his mind.
“On the bottom shelf of that closet,” Simon began, “there are things you’ll want to keep. You’ve seen them all, the albums from when the three of you were kids.”
Yes, of course he remembered the black cotton socks, the high-laced shoes, and Leo standing between two tall brothers.
“I had a copy made of your mother’s photograph. You might want to have some more for your children.”
There was a long pause. Adam’s eyes went to the window, where rain was spattering the pane.
One photo, and nothing more. If he had loved her, wouldn’t there be more? Wouldn’t he have married her if only to save her from shame? And how many times have you asked yourself this, Adam?
Then his father, resuming, went through a list.
“There’s Jonathan’s college diploma and that box of the stuff returned by the army, his watch, his safety razors, and a picture of him in uniform with his buddies, all the stuff you’ve seen. There’s also another photo of Blanche. Give it back to her.”
“Shouldn’t she have his other things, too?”
“No. Blood is thicker than water. They’re for you and your children. I also have letters from some cousins in Europe. Of course, I’ve never seen these women. It’s always the women who write. Men don’t bother, do they? But I answer them, even though I hardly remember how to write in German. One of them died in the influenza epidemic in 1918. So they’ve had their hard times, too. You might want to ask Leo to tell them about me when I go. He can manage a little German, I think.”
“Pa,” Adam said, “you called me here also to talk about Leo. I know you did. What is it you want to say?”
There was another pause before Simon replied. “I suppose what I want to say is that I wish I could know what he’s thinking.”
“I wish I did, too. Tell me, does he keep in touch with Bobby Nishikawa?”
“I don’t think so. Not since Bobby got married and moved away. It seems to me that all those books have taken his place.”
“Tell me this, too, Pa: How is it that he cared so much for Jonathan and never at all for me?”
The answer came so softly and so wearily that Adam barely heard it. “Because Jonathan was weak, and you are not. You’re different.”
“You thought Jonathan was weak, Pa?”
“Yes, in a way, he was. And that had nothing to do with his bright mind. Nothing.”
“I don’t understand. I never saw any weakness in him.”
“You didn’t know. You were away from him too long and never knew him as I did. You’re very strong, Adam. You solve problems. You manage. I believe that’s what Leo holds against you. That, and the fact that you had a different mother.”
“Is all this a reason for him to hate me? Because I believe he really does.”
“It’s not a good reason, but if people want to hate, they invent reasons. Hatred, Adam, is a fact of life, espe
cially within families. And now I’m tired, Adam. I think I’ll sleep.”
Quietly Adam left and closed the door.
So Pa, overburdened by daily cares and often remote from the family, had in truth been watching them and drawing his own conclusions. Simon Arnring, psychologist!
A few days later, Simon died mercifully in his sleep. They thought of burying him not far from where Sabine lay next to the husband she had not loved. But in the end they decided to bury him back east, next to the wife he had loved.
From blocks around, the neighbors came to the graveyard, along with the rabbi and the Protestant minister, who lived at the end of the street.
“He was a simple man,” they all said. “A kind and simple man.”
Kind, indeed, but not as simple as I once thought, Adam said to himself, while his heart ached more than he had ever thought it would.
Chapter 19
Life, indeed, was not as simple as Adam had once believed it would be if only one had enough to pay one’s bills. For now he was one of the senior vice presidents, with so many responsibilities and so many eyes upon him that he rarely got home in time to eat with his sons. Sabine’s house had not yet been totally emptied of forty years’ accumulation, and Emma could not do it all without some help from him. That left the weekends in which to sort out, sell, and give away everything from the cumbersome furniture to Sabine’s jewelry, most of which was, with great joy, received by Rea.
“I don’t know why I’m so terribly tired,” he said to Emma one day. He had been watching her at the park tennis court teaching Jonathan to play a game that he himself had never had the time to learn. In her pleated skirt and white blouse, with a band keeping her bright hair in place, she looked no older than eighteen.
“It’s been a terrible year,” Emma observed, “one of the lean years, as Sabine used to say. Sickness and death began it, sickness and death ended it. There was the house to clean out, then James’s broken arm—no end, it seems.”
“You had to suffer through it, too, and look at all your energy!”
“But I can take a little rest in the middle of the day. You can’t. I can sit down with a book, or go for a good walk. You can’t. Why don’t you take a trip, go someplace for a few days? Maybe go fishing with Spencer Lawrence?”
“I wouldn’t mind, but Dan Cace has asked me to do him a favor. He’s supposed to go to New York for the spring showings. Our Madame Blanche is to be one of the big names. It’s grand publicity. But since Dan has to go to his sister’s wedding, he’s asked me to go in his place.”
“Absolutely, you should. How would it look to say no? I ran into Blanche downtown the other day. She was all enthusiastic about some new connections for Irish woolens and French silks. You should go, Adam. It’ll be a change.”
“For Pete’s sake, you know I haven’t got a thing to do with fashions, Emma. My job starts and stops with the building, the plant, and the equipment. You think I want to watch a lot of skinny women parading their silks and woolens?”
“You might enjoy it more than you think,” she said mischievously. “You’re just cross and tired today.”
“Well, I’m darned if I’m going to stay a whole week. I’ll put in an appearance at the big show and a couple of lunches, or whatever Dan is supposed to do, and then I’ll come home.”
“I have been looking all over for Mr. Cace,” Blanche said over dinner at the hotel, “and now I discover it’s you who has to fulfill this obligation! Poor Adam—I know you have no interest in fashion! It’s Dan who knows all about fashion shows. He wants to start having a little show once a week at home, did you know that?”
“I heard something about it. I think it’s a great idea, but maybe not once a week. An event stops being gala when it happens that often. I would make it four times a year, as the seasons change. Put out a red carpet, have music, flowers, and refreshments, with Madame Blanche as the star.”
“Chanel and I!”
“Why not? You don’t have to be French to be a star. By the way, what’s the story with your skirt? I noticed it when you walked into the lobby.”
The skirt of Blanche’s black suit hung midway to the ankles; a pale, light blue blouse was matched, not by the familiar cloche, but by a little hat that nestled far back on the head and was framed by her curly hair.
“It’s the newest look. You can’t have read my elegant card on the display case when I foretold this change as long as four months ago.”
“I didn’t see it. But I do remember that other time when skirts were long and you predicted that they would soon be short.”
“That was a hundred years ago.”
He thought he heard a mournful tone in her voice even though she smiled. And in a flash, he saw himself as he must look to her: a man not much older than herself, with a marriage, a house, three children, and above all, stability. She’s not over Jon’s death, he thought, as he often did, and perhaps never will be.
The restaurant was crowded with men and women in formal dress. “They’re on their way to the theater,” Blanche explained. “Monday night is theater night in New York.”
“I wouldn’t know. I guess I’m a country boy. Pearls by the rope length and diamond tassels in the ears—all this jewelry dazzles. You wouldn’t expect it with times as bad as they are.”
“There are always people who prosper, even in bad times. They can still buy anything they want. How much has Cace Arnring suffered? Think about that.”
“I do think about it. That’s why I put in the lower-price department years ago. But since you don’t work there, you probably don’t even notice it.”
“I notice it whenever I see your wife. That’s where she shops, except for a few ‘big event’ clothes.”
“Yes, that’s Emma. But should she wear one of your suits to give a piano lesson?” he demanded.
“I’m not criticizing, Adam. She always looks lovely. Is she ever going to bob her hair?”
“She doesn’t want to, and I don’t want her to. Why should she?”
“I didn’t mean that she should. I only asked, Adam. Only asked.”
He had not meant to be short with Blanche, and now, feeling that he might have been so, he apologized.
“I’m tired from that long train trip. Anyway,” he added ruefully, “I am not the gentle soul that Jonathan was.”
“It seems to me that every time we see each other, which isn’t often, we bring his name into the conversation. I suppose that a major tragedy scars you forever.”
“Yes, we share the grief, you and I. You two were like two fingers on a hand together.”
She did not answer. Changing the subject, he asked what time the showing was to start tomorrow, where the dinner to which Dan Cace had given him the ticket was to be held, and who the guests were to be.
“Some of the biggest manufacturers go to Paris every year to see what’s happening over there. Mr. Cace thought I should meet some of them because it might be a good thing for me to take the trip, too, sometime.”
Adam was doubtful. “We’re only a department store, not a factory. I wonder whether we should spend that much money.”
“I could pay my own way. It would be worth it to see Europe again. I sold all my stocks at the top a month before the crash, so you see I’m in very good financial shape.”
“Smart woman. I tried so hard to get my father to do it, but it didn’t work. It still upsets me to think of his whole life’s savings gone down the drain.”
“You have to put it out of your mind, Adam. What’s the use?”
“You’re right. What’s done is done.”
“Well, not everything. Some things can be undone, or redone.”
“That sounds like a crossword puzzle.”
“Shall we go? Tomorrow’s my big day, and I need some sleep.”
The afternoon took too long. Down the runway they came, the skinny girls with their peculiar strut, whirl, and strut, while the designers beamed and the audience applauded. Carefully, Adam wrote dow
n the information that Dan Cace would want and sat after that in a fog of indifference until, now and then, a truly astonishing piece of information woke him up.
Two hundred fifty dollars for a dress! It was a Madame Blanche design in the bright pink that was lately known as “shocking.” Now wide awake, his eyes and ears alert, he felt a new enthusiasm sweeping through the audience. Behind him, paper rustled as pens scribbled and voices whispered.
“. . . not lamé, it’s a chiffon lamé . . . one narrow necklace . . . doesn’t detract from the gold skirt . . . mink border . . . berthas are finished . . . don’t use trains, too Patou . . . a ski jacket . . . the new sport.”
“Marvelous taste,” said the man next to Adam. “An original, this Madame Blanche.”
The man beyond that one had more to add. “She’s a whole lot better looking than those flat-chested gals on the runway. I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on her. I’ll bet she . . .” The voice dropped away.
None of my business what she does, Adam thought. It’s her life. But what an asset to the store! Her name will be in every fashion magazine after this. We’d better make sure that our name is in great big letters. She’d better get a raise, too—a fancy one. Bring it up first thing at the meeting next week.
At dinner last night she seemed to be a trifle touchy. Or maybe I only imagined it. Maybe it was my fault? We’ll be sitting together at dinner tonight, and since we’re the only people from the store, I’ll make up for it.
“How does it feel to be a winner?” he inquired, and before she could answer, informed her that she looked beautiful.
Thanking him, she went on to say that he looked rather fine himself. “I haven’t seen you in a dinner jacket since the opening of the new store, the night your wife wore the maternity dress I fixed for her.”
Again he had the feeling that there was a double meaning in her words. Was she perhaps feeling that they had excluded her in some way from their brilliant social life?
