“Have you eaten yet?” Cyrus asked.
“No, I just didn’t feel like it.”
When they got to the house on the Point, he was immediately put to bed. A few minutes later Peg came up with his breakfast, which she fed him as he sat up in bed, his back supported by several pillows which she had brought up before and which she tucked behind him.
“The doctor will be coming to see you soon,” she said.
“Really? I didn’t think doctors made house calls anymore.”
“I guess they do when my uncle calls them.”
Dr. Riley came, examined him, and suggested he stay in bed for a day or two. Victor did not mind. He was comfortable and he enjoyed being waited on. Peg brought him his meals and sat with him while he ate. It was after dinner Sunday, as she was removing his plate, that he seized her hand and kissed it. Then, to show that it was not merely out of gratitude, he turned it over and kissed the palm. He felt her stiffen momentarily, but then she relaxed and smiled and took away the tray. When, a little later, she brought up the Sunday paper, again he kissed the palm of her hand. This time she responded by kissing him on the forehead. He was sure if he were to kiss her on the mouth, she would not object, but of course he did not make the attempt for fear of giving her his cold.
In the evening he felt well enough to get out of bed, and came down in his bathrobe to join the family for supper. Cyrus wanted him to stay the week, but he insisted that he had to be back for classes. He did, however, call in Monday morning to say that he would not come in that day but would be in Tuesday, when he had only one class, and that in the afternoon. Cyrus drove him in Tuesday morning.
Back in his own apartment, it occurred to him that Marcia Skinner might have expected him to call Sunday afternoon, as he had on previous Sundays, and he felt he ought to call to explain, if only to ensure their future relationship. He dialed, quite prepared for the phone to ring several times, indicating that she was not at home, in which case he would call the next evening a little earlier. He was not prepared for the operator to inform him that the phone had been disconnected.
The next morning he called her office number. “Miss Skinner is not in,” he was told.
“When do you expect her?”
“Oh, she won’t be back here. She’s been transferred to the New York office.”
“Until when?”
“Indefinitely. It’s a permanent transfer.”
He felt, unhappily, it was an omen that meant that his future would be with Margaret Merton.
9
Peg had gone off with Victor, and Cyrus was alone with his sister. “Well, Aggie, what did Dr. Riley say?”
“He said she was underweight and a little anemic. He prescribed iron pills and said he wanted to see her again in a couple of months. But then I spoke to him privately, while she was dressing. He thought it might be a good idea if she didn’t get married right away. He thought she ought to build herself up first.”
“He did, did he? Well, maybe I ought to have a talk with him. These doctors—you come to them for some medical advice, and right away they want to run your whole life. So what did she say to that?”
“Oh, he didn’t tell her. He said it to me. He said that if the woman is anemic, it’s apt to affect the child. Children of an anemic mother are prone to all sorts of birth defects. And from what he knew of her background and education, he rather thought she wouldn’t be apt to practice birth control.”
“Because she’s a good Catholic? Well, she could use the rhythm method, couldn’t she?”
“I suppose.”
“We ought to arrange to have Dr. Riley explain it to her.”
“Oh, she knows about it. It was in her course of sex education at the seminary.”
Cyrus was aghast. “They taught that in a Catholic seminary?”
“Of course. They taught it when I went to school, although I guess they were less explicit than they are now.”
“Have you ever spoken to her about—well, about how she feels about getting married, and you know, about Victor?”
“Yes. She said she was grateful for all we’ve done for her but that she wanted a family of her own. She said Victor felt the same way, that he was a kind of orphan, too. I asked her what she meant by that, but she didn’t want to talk about it. And you know how she is when she doesn’t want to talk about something. She just clams up like she hadn’t heard you. Do you know anything about it? You said you were going to make some inquiries.”
“Well, I wondered about his folks coming to the wedding. I thought maybe they might not be able to afford to make the trip. They’re in California, you know. I thought if that were the case, I would arrange something. You know, offer to advance the money for their plane fare. I’d call it a loan, but I wouldn’t expect it to be repaid. Victor told me they wouldn’t be coming. So I made some inquiries on my own. I have contacts through the bank.”
“And?”
He hesitated. He was reluctant to answer, although he had known for some time. “Nothing to brag about,” he said at last. “His mother and father were separated when he was about four years old. For ‘separated’ you might read abandoned. Then the courts took control because she couldn’t or wouldn’t take care of him. Given to drink, I understand. Then foster homes until he finally ended up in a sort of orphanage run by the Christian Brothers. He showed aptitude, and they pushed him. They even encouraged him to take a classical course in high school. Then college by way of scholarships, and ended up at Boston College Graduate School on a fellowship.”
“And with that kind of background you want him to marry our Peg?” she demanded.
“Sure. Why not? He’s big and strong and handsome, what Pa would have called a ‘big broth of a lad.’ And she’s small, and from what Dr. Riley says, not very strong. All the Mertons have been runty. Well, with someone like Victor, there’s a chance that the kids will be big and healthy. And he’s a college professor, too. And he did it all himself. He teaches evening classes a couple of nights a week. That shows character. What’s wrong with that? For that matter, what sort of background did we have? Pa was a sweeper for the streetcar company. And Ma did house-cleaning. All of us Irish who came over a couple of generations back were of much the same level. The same with all the other immigrants, the Italians and Poles. That’s why they came to America. The doctors and lawyers and big farmers, they stayed in the old country. It was mostly the riffraff that came over. But given the opportunity, we made something of ourselves. And so did Victor. So I’m all for him. The only question as far as I’m concerned is, does she want him? Is she in love with him?”
“Sure she loves him. He’s the only man who ever paid any attention to her. In fact, he’s practically the only man she’s ever known. He’s thirty-two and she’s a very young twenty. She’s been in girls’ schools all her life. Yes, they had dances that were arranged by the school, and boys were imported. But I doubt if any of them ever got a crush on her. She’s no raving beauty. And we, the only other people she has ever been close to, we approve of him and encourage him. And to top it off, he is a big broth of a lad. She’d have to be pretty perverse not to like him.”
“Fine, so let’s get them married off as soon as possible so we can sit back and await the arrival of grandchildren.”
“Shouldn’t we have some sort of engagement party?”
“What for? We’d have to invite some of the local people, and why bring in competition? I bought an engagement ring for Victor to give her. I figured he might not be able to afford anything decent and I didn’t want him to go in hock for it.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a velvet ring box. He opened it and passed it to her. It contained a gold ring with an emerald flanked on either side with two small diamonds. “What do you think?”
“Oh, it’s lovely.” Then anxiously, “Do you think I ought to get her some kind of gift to give him?”
“No, that’s not necessary, not necessary at all.”
But Margaret did have an en
gagement gift for Victor, a wristwatch. “It was my father’s,” she explained. “It’s not very expensive, but my father treasured it. My mother bought it for him when they went to Rome on their tenth anniversary. She had the Sacred Heart painted on the dial, and do you see that little silver tube right above the twelve. That’s a relic of Saint Ulric. Dad always wore it inside the wrist so it should be right next to the blood vessels and sort of that way connected to his heart.”
“Then that’s the way I’ll wear it.” He adjusted the gold-colored metal band to fit his wrist and then put it on and snapped the catch. “And you know, dear, these days our lives are governed so much by the time, that it’s a wonderful thing to have it done by a holy watch.”
10
Agnes arranged for the wedding to take place at the beginning of Victor’s April vacation, and Cyrus treated the couple to a week in Bermuda for their honeymoon. Peg had mentally prepared herself for the trauma of the wedding night by telling herself it was a sacrifice that she must make. She had expected it to be painful, but she found that it was also distasteful. To be sure, her aunt had warned her, “Married life takes getting used to for some women. If you find you don’t particularly like the marriage duty at first, well, you’ll get used to it after a while. It’s different for men than it is for women, they enjoy it. In fact, they sort of need it like—like you need a drink of water when you’re terribly thirsty. If you love him, and if you keep in mind that it’s a need that he has to satisfy, it will help. And for his sake, if you don’t enjoy it, it helps to pretend that you do.”
But Peg had no talent for pretending, and each night when he made love to her, she found the experience unpleasant even if no longer physically painful. Curiously, although at first a little chagrined at her lack of appreciation of his lovemaking, very soon he found that he did not mind, and that in fact it gave a certain fillip to the process, and sometimes when he sensed her disgust as he thrust, Sister Bertha, his sixth-grade teacher, came to mind.
For the rest he was especially kind and considerate, as if to make amends. The days were spent in lying on the beach and swimming, in cycling and in wandering about the streets and shopping. She enjoyed being with him, and even at night she enjoyed having him beside her in bed; perhaps because it was the first time since she was orphaned that she had had intimate personal contact with another human being, and while the act of love was unpleasant, at least it did not last long.
All too soon they had to return. They had made no plans, but had assumed that they would be living with the Mertons for a while. They would sleep in her room because it was much larger than the guest room that he was used to. Perhaps Agnes would make some changes, if only to replace her bed with a double bed. On their return, however, when she went up to her room, she found all her things were gone, the closet empty of her dresses, the bureau empty of her underwear, sweaters, stockings.
She came down to the living room where Victor was having a drink with her uncle and aunt. “My things are gone,” she said, “everything. There’s nothing in the closet or in my bureau or—”
Cyrus grinned. “Sure. We moved them to your house.”
“My house?”
“You didn’t think we were going to have you two lovebirds staying here with us old fogies? We thought you’d rather be alone, so we moved your things to one of my summer rentals. It’s a nice house, one of the two on Shurtcliffe Circle. It’s furnished plainly, but adequately. It’s certainly better than a room in a hotel. You can have it as long as you like, or until you find someplace you like better.”
It was a small, frame house on a dead-end street, with two bedrooms on the second floor separated by a hallway that led to a bathroom. One bedroom, presumably the master bedroom, was considerably larger than the other and had an adjoining bathroom. It had twin beds joined together with clamps to form one large king-size bed. The other bedroom had a single bed. Their clothes, Margaret’s dresses, and the extra suit that Victor had kept at the Merton’s were in the closet of the large bedroom, of course.
“How do you like it?” asked Cyrus.
“It’s wonderful,” said Margaret.
“Perfect,” said Victor.
“Of course, the furniture—” Cyrus began apologetically.
“Fine,” said Victor. “It’s just fine.”
“And there’s dishes and pots and pans,” Cyrus pointed out. “Even a vacuum cleaner. At least there’s supposed to be one.”
“I’m sure we’re going to love it,” Margaret said.
“Then we’ll leave you,” said Cyrus. “Come on, Aggie. Let’s leave these two lovebirds to set up housekeeping.”
They walked them to the front door, and in parting Agnes said, “There’s bread and rolls in the bread box in the pantry, and you’ll find some stuff in the fridge, nothing special, just milk and butter and eggs, and on the pantry shelf there’s coffee and tea bags and sugar.”
“We expect you for dinner on Sunday, of course,” said Cyrus.
“Oh, sure.”
“And when Victor has to stay in town for his night classes, plan on coming to supper, Peg, and then you can drive home later when he gets home.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about staying alone,” said Peg.
“By the way, do you know the people next door?” said Victor.
“I don’t know them. They’re Jews, I understand, but all right. At least none of the people I’ve rented this house to have ever complained about them.”
“Jews? I don’t believe I’ve ever known any,” said Peg.
“They’re all right. We’ve got a few on the faculty and quite a few in the student body,” said Victor.
At the door, Cyrus halted. “By the way, how are you planning to get in tomorrow? When is your first class?”
“I’ve got a nine o’clock Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I thought Peg could drive me to the railroad station.”
“If you take the eight o’clock, you’ll get into North Station around half past. Then you have to take the subway to Park Street, transfer, and get off at Arlington and walk down.” He shook his head. “You could make it by nine o’clock, if you are lucky and everything goes just so. No, you’d better plan on taking the seven-thirty. And how about coming home? Do you finish the same time every day?”
“No, I thought I’d call and Peg could come and meet me.”
“Then she’d have to wait around for your call. And if you take the library job, Peg …” He shook his head decisively. “No, that won’t do at all. Look, one of my salesmen left last week, and his car is just sitting in the garage. Why don’t I have one of my men drop it off in your driveway here? It has the Merton Realty logo on the side. Do you mind? Or you can remove it; it’s not painted on, just a decal.”
“But—But when you hire another salesman?” Victor stammered.
“Naw, anyone I hire will have to use his own car. I’ll pay the mileage. I figure it will cost me less in the end.”
“Gee, I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything, my boy. I’m only too happy to help.”
Peg got a chance to meet a Jew when Helen Rosen came over the next morning to welcome the new neighbor with a plate of cookies she had just baked. And, of course, Peg invited her in to have coffee.
“It’s instant. Do you mind?”
As they sipped their coffee and munched the cookies, Peg learned that Herb Rosen had a large plumbing contracting business which he had inherited from his father. “They installed the plumbing in the Barnard’s Crossing High School.” But he himself couldn’t change a washer on a faucet. That he had studied at the Juilliard School of Music, but had consented to go into his father’s plumbing business when he realized that he was not likely to become a concert violinist. That he conducted an orchestra in the town which rehearsed once a week at the Veteran’s Hall, and if Peg or her husband could play an instrument—an orchestral instrument, that is, not a guitar or accordion—they would be more than welcome. That she did volunt
eer work every afternoon at the Salem Hospital gift shop. That Herb had a boat and in the summer sailed every chance he got, but she didn’t much care for it. That they had a daughter, Phoebe, who was in the first year at Barnard’s Crossing High.
And Helen Rosen, in turn, learned that the Joyces didn’t know how long they would be living in the house, or in Barnard’s Crossing for that matter, because it might be more convenient to live in Boston. That Cyrus Merton was her uncle, and that she had lived with the Mertons since she was twelve, when her parents died. “I was away at school or summer camp most of the time, though.” That she had been married little more than a week—
“Yes, I think I read the announcement of the wedding in the Reporter. I remember now, it said you were given away by Cyrus Merton, uncle of the bride.”
That they didn’t sail, “but perhaps we’ll take it up if we continue to live in Barnard’s Crossing.” That her husband was pretty keen on golf, however.
“Then he’ll have to go to Breverton, to the country club there. There’s no golf course in Barnard’s Crossing.”
“Yes, I know. He’s already gone there a few times.” That he was an assistant professor at Windermere Christian in Boston.
“Oh really? A good friend of mine teaches there.”
That he taught evening classes a couple of nights a week, but she didn’t mind staying home alone. Besides, she had a job in the town library, and she was sure they’d let her work on those evenings when Victor was teaching.
11
When next Rabbi Small went to the Salem Hospital, he found that Morris Fisher was no longer there; had been discharged the day after his visit, in fact. That evening, however, Ben Clayman called at the rabbi’s house with news of him.
“I was over to see Fisher—”
“He’s no longer in the hospital.”
“Yeah, I know. I went to see him at his house on the Point.”
The Day the Rabbi Resigned Page 5
