Decision

by Allen Drury

  And she got up, apparently quite composed and at ease, put down her half-emptied glass and started toward the hallway. It would have been an effective gesture except that she had to pass close to him to accomplish it and her expression suddenly shattered into something quite different as she approached his chair.

  He caught her hand and placed it against his cheek.

  “I talk too much,” he said humbly.

  “Yes, you do,” she said, lightly touching his head with her other hand. “But perhaps we can get you over that.”

  And so they had, and very happily: more happily than he could ever remember with Mary, even when they were first married. The remembrance brought a sudden stirring that caused him to shift uneasily in his chair and think: Good Lord, here I am on the Supreme Court listening to arguments and—He could feel himself actually blushing, and to cover it cleared his throat quickly and bent forward over his legal pad to make a note which he found later did not make much sense. But it sufficed—he thought, though when he looked up he caught Moss’ contemplative glance again. He smiled and winked companionably. Moss perforce winked back. The others were listening intently to the argument and paid no attention. He too tried to concentrate, but the memories of that night, which he knew had changed his life fundamentally forever, could not be prevented.

  He had left shortly before eight, not knowing what his reception would be at home and for the moment not really caring, so euphoric was his mood. He had never been, he realized, so genuinely happy before—so completely at peace with himself and the world in every way. There had been occasions when he had been quite happy physically but mentally restless; other occasions everything had seemed perfect when considered intellectually but the physical expression had not been quite right. With Cathy, everything was right: he was fully and completely happy and his doubts and hesitations, which earlier had appeared so important, seemed to be utterly and entirely gone. Until he got to Georgetown. And there, of course, conscience came back a hundredfold, as he had suspected, and dreaded, that it would.

  Yet it was his own inward doing, for Mary had made no particular comment. She seemed uninterested in where he had been, having earlier accepted without demur his explanation that he would be at the Labor Department “cleaning out my things.” Months ago, when he had begun to work late on the strikes, she had accepted the fact that he might often be arriving late. At first she had been suspicious, called him on his private line that remained open after the switchboard closed; at first made excuses for this, then made none. “Just checking up on you,” she had taken to saying matter-of-factly, and he always said, “Well, I’m here.” After a time she stopped doing even that, and presumably had not done so tonight, since there was no change in demeanor or attitude that he could see. Yet, watching her and Janie covertly as Julia served the meal and they began silently eating, he could not believe that she did not sense something different in him. But if so she said nothing about it.

  “Daddy,” Janie said presently, “do you think you will enjoy the Court?”

  “Yes, I do,” he said, pleased with the chance to get away momentarily from his thoughts. “I think it’s going to be very new and exciting.”

  “I imagine,” Mary said, making what appeared to be a genuine attempt to join in, “that it will take you a few days to really become accustomed to it.”

  “Justice Demsted told me it took him two years. Justice McIntosh said it took her even longer. The word they both used was ‘awe’—their ‘awe’ of the Court. I can understand that. It is an awesome institution.”

  “Are the Justices nice?” Janie inquired.

  “They seem to be,” he said. “Very.”

  “Who do you like best?” she asked. “Aside from Uncle Moss, that is?”

  “Yes,” Mary said dryly.

  “I really like all of them, so far,” he said, ignoring it. “Justice Hemmelsford and I have never really seen eye to eye on things, but I think he’s going to be all right as a colleague. And the others seem very pleasant. Certainly they all went out of their way today to make me feel at home. I couldn’t ask for a more cordial welcome. The Chief Justice, incidentally, is giving a little dinner party at the Court Friday night, Mary, and would like us to attend.”

  “That’s only three days away—” she began.

  “Do you have anything on?” he interrupted, more sharply than he intended, but driven by nerves and guilt, he supposed. Anyway, he seemed unable to control it.

  “I’ll have to see—” she began.

  “You know,” he said shortly. “If you do, cancel it. This is virtually a command performance and I want your company.”

  “Would you go without me?” she inquired. He thought she was a little taken aback by his unusually harsh tone.

  “It’s in my honor, I understand. Indeed I would. But I think you can find your way clear, can’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said in a martyred tone. “I suppose so.”

  “Good.”

  “Do I get to go?” Janie asked, and made a face. “Since I can’t go with Sarah. It’s the same day, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Moss says the ceremony is at three p.m. and they hope to get away by five so that they can return here in time for the dinner. Yes, I don’t see any reason why you can’t go. I’ll ask the Chief Justice.”

  “Really, Tay!” Mary said. “This is a dinner for adults. I assume. I don’t see any reason why—”

  “Because it’s in my honor and she’s my daughter,” he responded sharply.

  “Can’t I do anything?” Janie demanded, abruptly close to tears. Mr. Chief Justice and Your Honors, he thought, if you could only see your new Associate and his happy home now.

  “That seems to me a fair question, Mary,” he said. “How do you answer it?”

  “Actually,” she said calmly, “I have been thinking about Sarah’s invitation, and while I still think the value of it for Janie is decidedly questionable—”

  “Oh, Mommy!” Janie said, face lighting up.

  “—still,” Mary went on calmly, “I think perhaps I was a little hasty in my decision. I think perhaps it was just reaction—you both were pressuring me so. On second thought and further reflection, I suppose it would be all right for Janie to go. The Pomeroys are still not my favorite people, but I suppose Janie wouldn’t suffer any harm from their company. I can see it would be exciting for her.”

  “Oh, Mommy!” Janie said again, ecstatic. “Thank you, thank you!”

  And she jumped up and ran around the table, almost upsetting Julia, who was just entering and exclaimed, “Ooops!” to give her mother a big hug and kiss. Mary received it with a little pat and a complacent “Thank you, darling.”

  “Thank you, Mary,” he said gravely, thinking: it was ever thus, in bed or wherever—first the withholding and then the gracious conferral, reaping all kinds of gratitude and benefits therefrom. A mental image of Cathy, loving, unrestrained, generous, giving, rushed into his mind and was banished. Or he attempted to banish it. Without much success, he recognized with an inward guilt and sadness; but Mary, damn her, asked for it.

  “May I go and call Sarah?” Janie asked, flushed and sparkling.

  “Eat your pudding first,” Mary said.

  “I will!” Janie cried; rushed back to her seat, gulped it down in three enormous mouthfuls, yelled, “’Scuse me!” and dashed out and up the stairs to her room.

  There was silence for a few moments.

  “That was very generous of you,” he observed dryly. “What did the Pomeroys do to suddenly refurbish themselves in your estimation?”

  “Nothing,” she said, almost indifferently. “I don’t like the Pomeroys. It was just what I said. You and Janie were so insistent. I thought she needed a lesson in patience. And as her mother I thought it was my duty to give her one. It doesn’t seem to have hurt her. She seems to like me just the same. Sorry, Tay.”

  “You are very pleasant,” he said, folding his napkin carefully and placing it
beside his place. “I suppose I should be very grateful also, that you are going to condescend to come to the Chief’s dinner with me.

  “‘The Chief,’” she said. “How quickly you slip into the lingo. Yes, of course I’ll go, although I find little Birdie a complete bore and the rest equally stimulating. Will Justice McIntosh wear her hockey boots?”

  “I am not going to discuss the Court with you any further,” he said, pushing back his chair and standing up, an expression of distaste on his face. “I wish you could be more enjoyable to be around but I suppose it’s too late now. You make it hard for me to sympathize with you. I’d like to sympathize, if you really dislike the life here so much, but you make it very difficult.”

  “Maybe you should find someone else,” she suggested, shooting him a sudden sharp glance that made his heart thump suddenly: Does she suspect or is she just fishing? Whichever, he had damned well better be calm.

  He shook his head as though he could not believe it.

  “Mary,” he said with a fair show of patience, “shall we just stop all this discussion? It isn’t getting us anywhere. I’m glad you’re going to the Chief’s dinner with me. I’m glad you’ve decided to let Janie go to South Carolina. We both appreciate your consideration and generosity.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Well. I just hope Janie will be all right.”

  “Why won’t Janie be all right?” he demanded. “She’ll be with Moss and Sue-Ann, she’ll be perfectly safe. What could possibly happen to her?”

  “There’s been some talk of a demonstration, hasn’t there?” she said with a sudden harshness that made him realize anew that, in her own particular difficult way, she did love their daughter. “The Pomeroys won’t hurt her but someone else might.”

  He shook his head with an annoyed impatience.

  “I’m sure there’s no need to worry.”

  She gave him a somber look. Their eyes held. Then he straightened his shoulders as though to ward off hobgoblins and turned away.

  “I’m going to the den to do some reading. Tomorrow is going to be a big day for us.”

  “Bigger than today?” she asked. He did not bother to respond but again came the paralyzing thought: Does she know? Instantly followed by the logical answer: She can’t possibly know anything.

  But a few moments later, deep in his old leather armchair, deciding to read once more through Marbury v. Madison, McCulloch v. Maryland and the rest of John Marshall’s monumental decisions, the house on Fifth Street, Cathy and their time together—approximately an hour and a half—came rushing back. And with them, a growing sense of uneasiness, unworthiness and guilt.

  How could he feel at ease with his new associates on the Court? How could he feel worthy of their respect and trust? How could he really rationalize his behavior, even though Mary made it easy for him with her attitude? How could he face her and Janie if the affair continued? How could he live with Taylor Barbour as Taylor Barbour had now become?

  It damaged his concept of himself. For the first time, Taylor Barbour was not quite as perfect, perhaps, as Taylor Barbour liked to think he was. And about time, too, he supposed some of his critics might say if they ever found out. He resolved grimly that they never would. He also resolved that it would never happen again. But he was too honest for that: he knew it would…

  And now the morning argument period was over, the red light glowed at the lectern, the pleader obediently concluded his final sentence. The Elph said, “Thank you, counsel. The Court will now recess for lunch. We will resume at one o’clock.” The Marshal used his gavel, the Justices rose, turned and disappeared through the red velvet curtain, which closed behind them. Media and audience also rose, stretched, started slowly out, talking in muted, decorous voices. The stately room fell silent.

  In the Robing Room, as they divested themselves of their official outerwear, Moss suggested casually, “How about a bite with me in my chambers, Tay?”

  “Thanks, Moss,” he said, ready with an excuse and relieved to have it, “but the Chief has invited me to join him, and I think maybe—”

  “Oh, sure,” Moss said cheerfully. “No problem. We’ll do it sometime later in the next thirty years. How do you like it so far?”

  “Are there words?” he asked, hoping he sounded light and humorous. “It’s overwhelming.”

  “Yes, I saw you absorbing the impact,” Moss said with a smile that did not entirely conceal an attentive interest. “You looked about ten thousand miles away.”

  Only five blocks, he thought wryly.

  “It takes getting used to.”

  “I’m not entirely used to it yet,” Moss said, “and I’ve been here quite a while now. Which is probably the way it should be…” And abruptly he asked, “Sure it’s only the Court that’s on your mind?”

  “Yes,” he said with what he hoped was his usual pleasant smile. “What else would there be?”

  “I don’t know,” Moss said as they handed their robes to the clerks and stepped into the hall. “You looked very thoughtful. Where were you heading last night when I saw you?”

  “Moss, old buddy,” he said with a laugh, “curiosity not only killed the cat, it has also been known to seriously debilitate Supreme Court Justices.” He added with an exaggerated emphasis, “I was on A Secret Errand of Great Importance.”

  “Oh,” Moss said with a grin and a wink. “One of those.”

  “Absolutely,” he said, continuing the laugh as they stood for a moment outside the Conference Room, which led on into the Chief’s chambers. “Isn’t that just like me?”

  “No, it’s not,” Moss said, “which is why I’m going to be worried if it should turn out to be true.”

  “Well,” he said shortly, “it won’t. So forget it. It’s nice of you to take Janie down to the dedication with you.”

  “Okay,” Moss said, dropping it as he always had when he came up against Tay’s polite stone wall. “Right you are. Yes, Sarah jumped at the idea of inviting her and we thought it would be fun and an experience for them.”

  “You’ll be back for the Chief’s party, I understand.”

  Moss frowned.

  “I’m not so sure now. They tell me they’re running a little behind schedule down there these last few days. They’re still planning to be ready by Friday, but now there’s some talk of delaying the dedication until around six or even seven, maybe. In which case we won’t make it back. But don’t worry about Janie. We’ll go on to Columbia, stay there for the night if we have to and come back Saturday. One way or another,” he said cheerfully in a phrase they would remember in anguish later, “we’ll get her back to you.”

  “I’m sure you will,” he said, aware that the Chief’s principal clerk was standing diffidently but determinedly at his elbow. “Yes?”

  “The Chief’s ready, Justice,” the young lawyer said, “if you are. Excuse us, Justice?”

  “Surely,” Moss said. “Have a good meal. You’ll enjoy getting to know Dunc, he’s quite a guy. See you back on the bench at one.”

  “On the dot, I suppose,” Tay said with a smile.

  “You bet your bottom dollar, the dot. Right, Jim?”

  “We try to adhere to a schedule,” the clerk said with a smile. “It’s easier that way. This way, Justice, if you please—”

  Lunch passed pleasantly and quickly, the Chiefs discussion of Court history banishing for a time other thoughts, and on the dot they were back on the bench.

  “We come now,” the Chief said after the Marshal had once more sounded the traditional call, “to Magnuson v. Minnesota. Counsel, you may proceed when you are ready.”

  And so the afternoon passed, and so the next two days passed; and on Friday, his office by now furnished pretty much as he wanted it, his favorite secretary from the Labor Department on the job, another about to be hired, one law clerk appointed and two more awaiting interviews, he was beginning to consider himself almost settled in.

  He dropped Janie off at the Pomeroys’ apartment at the Westche
ster when he drove to the Hill at 8:30 a.m. Flushed and excited, she kissed him good-bye with a fierce hug and “I love you, Daddy!”

  “I love you, too, baby,” he said, kissing Sue-Ann and Sarah also, shaking hands with Moss. “Take care of her and have fun, you all.”

  “We will,” Sue-Ann said. “Don’t you and Mary worry. We’ll have fun.”

  “Mary’s more worried than I am,” he said, thoughtful for a moment, “She’s afraid of some demonstration or something.”

  “Pooh!” Janie said. “I’m not worried. Are you, Uncle Moss?”

  “Nope,” he said firmly. “And don’t you be either, pal. I’ll call you if we decide to stay over. Everybody’ll be at the Court, right? I’ll call the dining room.”

  “Fine,” Tay said. “You do that.”

  And so, not too long after 8 p.m., speaking in a voice Tay at first could hardly understand, he did.

  ***

  Chapter 9

  Somewhere in the gentle twilight that had succeeded a golden afternoon a band was playing. He could hear it distantly, and the hum of voices. Cars passed him, grinding up the mountain road. A fair-sized crowd hiked amicably along around him, gossiping, chatting, feeling the excitement of the show to come. He spoke to no one, though his attitude was not hostile: on his face was a set, unchanging grin, so that his expression appeared to the casual glance to be good-natured, well-wishing, friendly. The lines of tension around the mouth were concealed by the heavy beard, the chilling coldness in the eyes was hidden by the grin and gleaming teeth. He estimated that by the time of the explosion it would be quite dark. It would be a pretty sight against the looming mountains and the trees. It would flower like a fountain. It would be a rose of death.

  He liked that phrase: a rose of death. He said it over to himself quite a few times as he neared the natural amphitheater where Pomeroy Station Atomic Energy Installation stood in the glaring eye of a hundred floodlights. Temporary grandstands had been erected facing the entrance. A speaker’s platform, back to the plant, faced the audience. Already the stands were almost full. He was among the last to arrive. But everything was in place. There was no hurry.