“Mrs. Jones?” Arthur's heart was sinking slowly to his feet, and he felt no better as they walked into the living room. There was a broken couch, three battered chairs with the stuffing pouring out, a coffee table that had seen better days, and a small Formica dinette set, with a television blaring in the distance. Inside, the house looked even worse than it did outside. Eileen Jones apparently did not spend a great deal of time keeping house for her husband.
It was a Saturday afternoon and there was a baseball game blaring on the radio, at the same time as Gabby Hayes came on the TV. The noise was deafening, and the children looked stunned by it. Everyone stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room, looking at each other.
“Want a beer?” She looked at Arthur, ignoring the children. And it was difficult to believe that this was Sam Walker's sister. He had been so impeccably groomed, such a handsome man, he had had such presence and power and magnetism about him. One had felt instantly drawn to Sam, and together with Solange they had made a dazzling couple. But this woman was a parody of all that was cheap and beaten and ugly. She looked well beyond her thirty-nine years, and the ravages of booze had taken their toll on her early. She might have been attractive once, but anything pleasant in her looks was long gone. She only looked hard and bitter and ugly. Her dyed hair was thin and dirty and unkempt, cut just below her ears, and hanging limp and greasy. She had Sam's brilliant blue eyes, but there was a dullness to them, with terrible bags beneath them from excessive drinking. Her skin was sallow, and her waist was thickened by beer, while her legs looked like two little toothpicks. She was totally foreign to everything the girls had ever seen, and Arthur realized that Hilary was staring at her in shock and horror.
“This is Hilary.” He tried to encourage her forward to shake the woman's hand, but she wouldn't budge. “And Alexandra,” who sniffed the stale beer that seemed to permeate the air, and made a face as she looked up at Hilary's obvious disapproval, “and Megan.” He indicated the baby, who glanced at the battered blonde with wide eyes. She was the only one who didn't seem worried by her summer home or her hostess. The other two looked terrified, and Hilary had to fight back tears when she saw the room they were to be given to sleep in. Eileen Jones walked them back to it without ceremony, waved in the direction of the sagging, narrow bed that stood unmade in one corner. The room itself was a narrow cell without windows, barely big enough for the bed it held, with a crib folded against one wall that looked as though she had fished it out of someone else's garbage, which is precisely where Eileen had found it, shortly after Arthur had called her.
“We'll get the sheets on the bed later.” She smiled artificially at her oldest niece. “Maybe you can help me.” And then, with no particular interest she glanced at Arthur. “Got her mother's eyes though.”
Arthur looked puzzled. “You knew Solange?” Solange had never mentioned this woman to him.
“I met her once. Sam was doing a play up here or something.”
And then suddenly Arthur remembered. Solange had hated her. But so had Sam. They had come by when he was doing summer stock in Stockbridge after the war. It seemed light years ago, but so did everything now. Arthur looked around him with a lump in his throat, hating to leave the girls there. And for a moment he hated his wife for condemning the children to this. How could she do this? But she didn't know, he reminded himself, as he fought back his own guilt and resentment. He had to force himself not to think about it and remind himself that this arrangement was only for the summer. And then … that was the real problem. And then what? Marjorie was intransigent. And he had already put out feelers everywhere, for people who would help, people who might want to take them in, people who had large families of their own, or people with no children of their own, but who might be willing to have them. He had spoken to all of his partners at the law firm.
Hilary was still standing awkwardly in the doorway of what was to be their room, staring with dismay at their new quarters. There was no closet, no chest for their things, there wasn't even a chair or a lamp or a table. There was a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, which dangled near the doorway.
“You got the money?” Eileen turned to him, and feeling awkward handing it over to her in front of the girls, he reached into his jacket for an envelope.
“That includes a reasonable amount for their expenses.”
Being far less genteel than Arthur, she opened the envelope and thumbed through it. He had given her a thousand dollars, including the fee, and if she played her cards right, and fed them nothing but macaroni and cheese for the next two months, she'd have plenty of money left over. She smiled happily at the girls, took a swig of her beer, and saluted Arthur as she tossed her cigarette into the sink with perfect aim. She did it often. “That's just fine, Mr. Patterson. We have any problems, I'll call you.”
“I thought I might come up to see them in a few weeks, if you and your husband don't mind, to see how they're doing.”
Hilary stared at him unbelievingly. He was actually going to leave them in this place, with the filth and the beer bottles and the unmade bed … and that awful woman. And if she had been withdrawn before, she was icy now, as he left them. “I'll call you in a few days, Hilary, and don't be afraid to call if you need me.” All she could do was nod. She couldn't believe he was doing this to them, after everything else he'd done. For a moment, she wanted to kill him. And instead she turned to look down at Alexandra, who was crying softly.
“Don't be silly, Axie. This is going to be fun. Remember, Uncle Arthur said we could go to the ocean.”
“Yeah?” Eileen laughed raucously as they heard the car drive away. “Where you going to do that? In the shipyard?” She laughed again. A thousand bucks was a hell of a nice price for a few months of inconvenience, and with luck they wouldn't be too bad. The baby looked like kind of a pain in the ass, and the five-year-old looked like a whiner, but the oldest one seemed to have it all in control. With luck, she'd take care of everything. Maybe she'd even cook and clean house. Eileen fell onto the couch in front of the TV with a fresh beer, and lit a cigarette. Maybe she and Jack would go out for dinner.
“Excuse me.” Hilary stood awkwardly next to the television, holding the baby. “Where are the sheets for our bed?”
“On the back porch, I think. If you can find 'em.” She never spoke another word to them, as Hilary quietly got them organized. She found torn sheets, but at least they were clean, and she put them on the bed, but there were no pillows and no blanket. And she put a makeshift sheet in the baby's crib, propping it between her bed and the wall, for fear it would topple over if she didn't. As she had suspected, it was broken.
She washed Alexandra's face then and took her to the bathroom, changed Megan's diapers, and gave all three of them a drink of water, as they sat quietly in their new room, looking around them.
“It's so ugly here,” Axie whispered, afraid that the lady with the cigarette and the beer would hear her. “Is she really Daddy's sister?”
Hilary nodded. It was difficult to believe, and not pleasant to think about, but she was their aunt and they were stuck with her for the summer. There was no place for them to put their toys, and the dresses the nurse had packed for them had to remain in their suitcases. It was five o'clock before Eileen saw them again, and as she had suspected, Hilary had everything in control.
“Excuse me.” She stood in front of her with her shining dark hair and big green eyes, like a miniature spokesman. “Could we give my sisters something to eat? They're both hungry.” Eileen hadn't even thought of that. There was nothing in the house. She opened the fridge and there was nothing there except beer and some rotting lemons and stale bread. Eileen and Jack never ate at home if they could help it. All they did was drink there.
“Sure, kid. Which one are you?”
“Hilary.” There was something very distant in her eyes, as though the last months had left her broken. She was only nine years old and she had already had more pain and grief than most people have in
a lifetime.
“Can you go to the store for me, and get yourself something to eat? A couple of cans of tuna ought to do it.”
“Tuna?” Hilary looked as though she'd never heard the word. She was used to hot meals prepared by the maid on Sutton Place, and her mother before that. Thick soups, and rich stews, and steaks cooked medium rare, and chocolate cakes with vanilla ice cream. “Tuna fish?”
“Yeah. Here's some money.” She handed her a few dollars, as though she expected her to create an entire dinner with just a few dollars. Even Hilary knew that was impossible. Her nurse gave her more than that just when she went to get ice cream. “The store's on the corner, you can't miss it. And buy me another beer too, will ya?” She was always afraid of running out, even when she had plenty.
Hilary took her sisters with her, only because she was afraid of what would happen if she didn't. And the store looked as seamy as everything else around them. Most of the houses were either crumbling brick, or wood with faded, peeling paint on them. And everything in the neighborhood looked as though it was battered and beaten and broken. Hilary bought two cans of tuna fish, a jar of baby food, a loaf of bread, some mayonnaise, butter, half a dozen eggs, a container of milk and a can of beer for their hostess. Hilary figured she could make a halfway decent dinner out of all of it, and she could use the rest of the eggs and the bread to make breakfast the next morning. But as she came in the front door struggling to carry the package and Megan and still hold Axie's hand, Eileen asked her two questions.
“Where's my beer?”
“I have it in the bag.”
“Then get it.” She barked at Hilary, and Axie started to whimper. She hated people who shouted at her, or her sisters. Their mother never had, and even their nurse didn't shout at them, even though they didn't like her much and she said ugly things about their parents.
Hilary handed Eileen the beer as quickly as she could, and Eileen glared at her and asked the second question. “Where's the change?”
Hilary handed her three cents, and Eileen threw it back at her, hitting the baby near the eye with one of the pennies. “What'd you do, buy yourself a T-bone? This isn't Park Avenue, you know. Where the hell's the rest of the money?” She seemed to have forgotten the thousand dollars Arthur had given her for just this purpose.
“I had to buy them dinner,” Hilary explained. “And there was nothing for breakfast tomorrow morning.”
“When I want you to buy breakfast, I'll tell you. You got that? And next time, don't spend so goddam much money.”
Hilary was stunned at what she was hearing, and her hands shook as she made them dinner. With expert ease, she had food in front of them in less than ten minutes. A soft-boiled egg and toast and baby food for Megan, and tuna fish sandwiches with mayonnaise for herself and Axie, and big glasses of milk for all three of them, which they drank gratefully. They were hungry and exhausted after the drive from New York and the emotional shock of Eileen and Charlestown.
Hilary did not offer her aunt anything to eat, and Eileen showed no interest in what they were doing. Hilary had them eat in their own room. The simultaneous blare of the radio and television made it impossible to talk and Eileen frightened all of them, even the baby. But just as Hilary was putting their dishes in the sink and starting to wash them, Eileen's husband came home, and Hilary was even more frightened when she saw him. He was a huge, burly man with enormous arms and powerful shoulders, and he was wearing work pants and an undershirt and the cloud of booze that surrounded him reached her all the way to the kitchen. He started to yell at Eileen almost the instant he walked in the door, but before he could hit her, she waved the envelope at him and showed him what he thought was all the money. Five hundred dollars. He broke into a big foolish grin, never suspecting that his wife had hidden an equal amount in a pile of old stockings where she kept her own money.
“Woooo … baby! Look at that! Ain't it purty?” Hilary watched him, long before he had seen her. “What's that for?”
“Them.” She pointed vaguely to the back of the house and Jack suddenly spotted Hilary in the kitchen.
“Who's that?” He looked blank, and Hilary noticed that he had an incredibly stupid face, and eyes that reminded her of a pig. She hated him on sight, he was even worse than Eileen, and he looked meaner.
“Remember my brother's kids I told you about?”
“The one who snuffed his old lady?”
“Yeah. Him. Well, they came today.”
“How long we gotta keep 'em?” He looked less than pleased as he glanced over Hilary like a piece of meat. He did not seem to think of their arrival as good news, in spite of the windfall.
“A few weeks, till that lawyer finds them someplace to live.”
So that was it. Hilary heard the news with a shiver. Arthur hadn't explained it to them before they left, and she suddenly wondered what would happen to their apartment.
But Eileen was smiling at her husband, as Hilary watched them. She was impervious to the children in the back room, as was he. It was as though they didn't exist, and to the Joneses they didn't. “Hey, baby, let's go dancing tonight.” They both looked too drunk to Hilary, but Jack Jones seemed to like the idea, as Hilary watched them. He had an oily-looking face and thinning hair, and thick hands that looked like roast beefs.
“Can we leave the kids?”
“Sure, why not? The older one does everything.”
“Everything?” He leered at his wife and moved closer, as Hilary sensed with a shiver that what he was suggesting was improper, but Eileen only laughed at him and pulled him closer.
“Come on, you horny old sailor … she's only nine years old for chrissake….” Eileen was laughing at him as he pressed his mouth down hard on hers, and slipped a fat hand into her bathrobe.
“And how old were you the first time?”
“Thirteen,” she said primly, but they both knew she was lying, and then with a raucous laugh she went to get herself another beer, and saw that Hilary was watching. “What the hell are you doing here, spying on us, you little brat?”
“I was just … cleaning up after dinner … I'm sorry … I …”
“Go to your room!” she shouted, slamming the refrigerator door with a vengeance. “Goddam kids.” She knew they were going to be a real nuisance before she got rid of them again, but as long as Jack didn't mind too much, they were good for the money.
The Joneses went out at eight o'clock that night. Megan and Alexandra were already asleep in their narrow airless room, but Hilary was lying in the dark, thinking of their mother. She would never have let something like this happen to them. Never. She would have read Eileen the riot act, taken her children home, and somewhere, somehow, she would have made a home for them, and that was just what Hilary had to do. And she knew it. She had to find a way, and a place to go … and enough money to do it. She wasn't going to let anything happen to her little sisters. She would do anything to protect them. And in the meantime she just had to keep them away from Jack and Eileen, keep them amused, outside in the weed-choked yard, or in their room. She'd make their meals, give them their baths, take care of their clothes. She lay in bed and planned everything until she fell asleep, and she didn't wake up again until morning, when Megan woke her up at six-fifteen with a dirty diaper. She was a good-natured child with her mother's red hair, which hung in loose coppery curls, and she had her father's big blue eyes, just as Hilary herself had her father's dark hair and her mother's green eyes. But it was Alexandra who really looked like their mother, and it tore at Hilary's heart sometimes to see her looking so much like Solange, and she sounded just like her whenever she giggled.
She made the girls' breakfast before Jack and Eileen woke up, and she took them outside to play, after dressing them in matching blue gingham dresses. She wore a red dress herself with a little apron. Her mother had bought it for her before she died, and she still loved it best of all. And it comforted her to wear it now, and think of her mother.
It was noon before Eil
een Jones appeared in the doorway to glare at them. She looked as though she were sick, and had they been older, they would have known she was desperately hung over.
“Can't you brats shut up? You make enough noise for a whole neighborhood. Christ!” The screen door slammed and she went back inside, and they didn't see her again until after lunch. She stayed inside all day and watched television and drank beer, and Jack seemed to go somewhere else to do his drinking. The only change during the week was that Jack left earlier and wore work clothes. He rarely spoke to them, except once in a while, he'd make a crack at Hilary, and tell her she'd be nice-looking one day, and she never knew what to say to him. Eileen didn't speak to them at all. And it seemed aeons before they heard from Arthur. He called exactly one week after he had left them and inquired how everything was. Hilary spoke mechanically and told him they were fine, but it was obvious to anyone that they weren't. Axie had started having nightmares and Megan was waking up at night. The room was breathlessly hot and the food inadequate. Hilary did everything she could to compensate for all of it, but there was only so much she could do. She was a nine-year-old child after all, and she was slowly drowning in deep waters.
But she told none of that to Arthur.
“We're fine.” But she sounded tired and unenthusiastic.
“I'll call you again in a few days.” But he didn't. He had his hands full at the office, with a difficult case, and he was still trying to close out Sam's affairs, and find someone to take the girls, but by August, it was plainly obvious that that wasn't going to happen. And he had given up trying to convince his wife. She had finally told him it was her or the children. The die was cast. Arthur was not going to take them.
Chapter 7
By the end of the summer two of Arthur's colleagues came to him quietly, quite unexpectedly, and offered to solve his problem.
The first to do so was one of the oldest partners in the firm. George Gorham was nearing retirement age, but only the year before, he had married an extremely attractive young socialite in her early twenties. Margaret Millington had been one of the prettiest debutantes of the year when she came out, and after that she had impressed everyone by doing extremely well at Vassar. But after that she had left the expected mold, and instead of marrying one of the young men her parents expected her to, she had gotten involved with George Gorham. A widower, he was forty years older than she, and perfect for her in every way. Except that he was unable to have children. He had been honest with her and she insisted that it didn't matter. But he was afraid it might someday, and he didn't want to lose her. And little Alexandra would fill the only void between them. He had discussed with Margaret adopting all of the Walker children and keeping the family intact, and although it seemed a noble deed, it seemed a little excessive to them. He didn't feel young enough to take on a child of Megan's age, and a child as old as Hilary when she was adopted could present problems. But a five-year-old sounded ideal to them, and Margaret was ecstatic.
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