Hope's Daughter

by Joani Ascher

  She and Lloyd never saw each other on Saturday night, so Olivia would not become suspicious. But it seemed one day that all they had tried to accomplish by hiding their relationship from Olivia was about to come out into the open.

  She looked at Jane and wondered aloud, “What has changed you so? You seem so happy!” Tears of joy formed in her beautiful eyes when she gazed at Jane.

  For her part, Jane had barely noticed the change in herself. But now, as she looked into the mirror, she saw Olivia was right. There was a considerable amount of color in her cheeks, and her hair seemed to have more style. She had found a cut that worked with her hair, and Lloyd’s pleased reaction as well as her sister’s and even Mr. Weaver’s had made her happy to have done it.

  Life fell into a smooth, pleasant pattern until Olivia’s good spirits appeared to completely evaporate in late April. She became quite moody, often sat quietly staring at nothing, and seemed to cry at the slightest thing.

  As the days went by, Olivia sulked more, and her appetite faded. It was different from the times when she was small, when she fought with a friend or when a little girl on the next block claimed to have a prettier dress. Then a new hair bow could bring a smile to her face. It was almost the same as it had been those weeks before Father died and for about a year afterward. She seemed to be grieving, but Jane could not figure out why.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Jane asked her on several occasions.

  She usually responded with stony silence or simply, “Nothing.”

  One morning Jane questioned her sister as delicately as possible, hoping to avoid another round of tears.

  “A young man is bothering me,” Olivia admitted. Her voice was very low, and she did not look Jane in the eye.

  Shivers ran down Jane’s spine at her tone. “Who?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Jane didn’t press her for the name. Instead she sat down next to her sister on the sofa and took her hand. “How does he upset you?”

  “He wants to go out with me and he won’t take no for an answer.”

  Something about the fear in Olivia’s eyes made Jane very uncomfortable. “What has he done to you?”

  “He got insulting when I refused him for the seventh time. He told me that I act like a child.”

  “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

  “No. And I make sure to stay out of his way. I’ve been pretty successful this week, at least.”

  There was little relief in that. His words had obviously struck deep. “You should have told me sooner,” said Jane. “School is nearly over for the semester. But if he does that again in the fall, please tell me right away. And stay close to Horace. He won’t let anyone bother you.”

  Olivia smiled when Jane said Horace’s name. “You’re right. I promise.” Jane intended to mention it to Horace as well, and ask him to see if he could find out about the fellow. Horace would handle it in a gentlemanly fashion, as he did everything else.

  While Jane knew that Horace would protect Olivia, she still found herself imagining what would happen if she told Lloyd about this boy. She could see him leaping to Olivia’s defense, and acting as her protector. He would help, and she, for once, would not have to bear the entire burden.

  But that would not do at all, now, since she supposedly had no contact with Lloyd.

  ****

  Jane had gotten her hair styled differently, and Prescott supposed it was becoming, but he missed the soft way it had fallen to her shoulders after it worked its way out of her bun.

  He enjoyed their evenings out immensely, and was surprised to realize what good company she was. Several times during the week he found himself anxiously looking at his watch, waiting for their time together. She was like a breath of fresh air after the other women he so often saw.

  Prescott knew Jane’s time was precious, since Olivia was still in college and dependent upon her, and he was impressed at how much importance she placed on developing a career for herself. If any woman could do it, she could.

  He had finally finished paying off his college loan and started saving in earnest for his goal. He had also done well on his military tests. While he was satisfied with his progress, it still seemed as if he would have to wait for too long to get what he wanted. But there was some good news. His mother told him his father was softening, just a bit, about the career path he had chosen. It gave him room to hope to heal the rift between his father and himself.

  When he had first heard about Prescott’s career goals, the senior Mr. Weaver had turned livid, citing scores of his friends and acquaintances who had been wiped out by the crash. “Anyone who dabbles should have his head examined,” he had said. “But someone who intends to make his living that way, preying on the tendency to gamble that many men have, is a criminal. I won’t have it.”

  All his own arguments, as well as those of his mother, did not change his father’s mind. Even now, several years later, the wound was still fresh. Prescott knew that while his father had revised his views, he was still not pleased with his son’s choices.

  The best way to heal the rift would be to settle down with the daughter of one of his father’s cronies and give his father grandchildren. As much as Prescott wanted to be in his father’s good graces, however, he had not yet found a young lady to court. None of them were one tenth as interesting, compassionate, or genuine as Jane Baldwin.

  And with the news from Europe, he had more pressing things to do than look for a girlfriend.

  ****

  In late May, Jane considered telling Olivia about her relationship with Lloyd, because she was positive he was in love with her. Somehow it seemed so underhanded, all the sneaking around they had done, and Jane resolved to talk to Lloyd and ask for his help in making it seem they had just become reacquainted.

  She missed two opportunities. They had been scheduled to meet on those occasions, and Jane had rehearsed what she wanted to say several times. But Lloyd failed to appear both times, leaving Jane wishing he could be more reliable, like Mr. Weaver.

  On the third scheduled date, Lloyd showed up. As usual, he had a perfectly good explanation of what had kept him away, and lamented that he could not contact her to advise her of his absence. He told her again that if she would only stop having those dinners with Mr. Weaver, they would be able to spend more time together. Then he pulled a bouquet of carnations from behind his back as an apology, and listened closely while she outlined her position.

  “I don’t think that is such a good idea,” he said, after she listed the obvious advantages, in particular that they would be able to go out on weekends and see much more of each other if Olivia knew of the relationship.

  His reluctance surprised her, but she assumed he knew what he was doing. “If anything,” he said, “we should take it slow. We’ll have plenty of time to be together once we’re married. But we have to wait until the time is right.”

  The very mention of the word marriage, in connection with herself, so surprised and delighted Jane that she immediately agreed to Lloyd’s request. She did not mention the subject of telling Olivia about them again. But he brought up one of his own, a few days later, that shook her world.

  They were sitting in a banquette in a candlelit restaurant in Little Italy. Lloyd’s finances did not permit another night out like the one they’d had on their first date. These more reasonable dinners were fine with Jane, who only cared about the company. Lloyd took her in his arms.

  “There is something I want to ask you,” said Lloyd, holding her close. A violinist who had been playing nearby smiled and edged away.

  Jane bit her lip to keep from blurting anything out. But she had no doubt Lloyd was about to ask her to marry him.

  “I know that because of my circumstances,” he continued, “we can’t formalize our relationship yet, but I love you so much that waiting is killing me.”

  Puzzled, Jane remained silent. She doubted she could have said anything anyway, since she was so disappointed Lloyd had said
they still had to wait to become engaged. Searching his eyes for some indication of what he was about to say, Jane struggled to keep her own from filling with tears.

  Lloyd took her hand in his own. “I want to show you how much I love you. It hurts so much when we don’t see each other, but even more when we do and I can’t hold you in my arms all night.”

  Jane knew what he was asking her but could not bring herself to look at him. She reached for her glass of Chianti and took a big gulp. She kept her face turned away, not letting him see it burn.

  “I know this goes against your upbringing,” Lloyd murmured into her hair. “And I wouldn’t want you to go all the way. If only I could look at you, all of you, and touch you. I’ll stop when you tell me to. I promise.”

  She turned back, looked into his eyes, and knew he was telling the truth. Maybe she could let him do more than just kiss and fondle her through her blouse. She certainly wanted that. She could still be a virgin on her wedding night. “All right,” she whispered.

  “We can go to my apartment,” he said.

  All the way there, Jane felt as if every person on the street knew what she was about to do. Everyone seemed to stare at her, as they walked through the neighborhoods to a rundown area near the river. She was so embarrassed she could barely utter a word.

  Lloyd took her to his little flat above a laundry. Leading her by the hand, he opened the door. Involuntarily, she shuddered.

  The wallpaper peeled in places, and there was such humidity in the air that Jane had no doubt the steam regularly found its way up through the floor. She felt clammy herself, as if she had wilted on the spot.

  Lloyd guided her over to the single bed and sat her down on its damp yellow sheets. He sat beside her for a moment, then slid off the edge of the bed onto his knees. In a breathless moment that astounded her, Jane found him undoing her garters and removing her stockings. Soon he had removed the rest of her clothes as well as his own. She was afraid to look at him yet could not tear her eyes away, even though the dim bulb cast long shadows on them, making it difficult to see. Her face burned even more, especially when he began to touch her breasts. She gasped.

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured. He stroked and suckled both breasts, which stimulated and embarrassed Jane, but Lloyd assured her everything was all right. He did not violate her wishes, and did not touch her anywhere else, seeming to be content with satisfying himself privately in just a few minutes.

  They continued in this manner for a few weeks until one night they lay together, naked, with Lloyd kissing her passionately. Jane felt as if she were floating. Lloyd’s hands drifted over her breasts, down her stomach, and along her legs. Then suddenly he lay atop her and, holding her very close, entered her. It was incredibly painful. She screamed, and he pulled out.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said a minute later, when he could talk. “I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t go all the way in, I swear.”

  For several minutes afterward, Jane lay curled up and sobbing.

  “I don’t think I—” He broke off, and started again. “You’re still a—” He swallowed. “Don’t worry. It was only for a second. I apologize. It will never happen again, not until we’re married.”

  He showed much more restraint on subsequent occasions, leading her to admire him even more. Alone at night in her own bed, she relived those moments together, sensing that the feelings she had would be even better when they were married. He was so sincerely in love with her, she was tempted to tell Olivia about his return to her life. How could he object now?

  “Lloyd,” she said, one evening when she finished washing up after the dinner she had made for him in his apartment. Since they had gotten close, he had suggested they eat in, to have more time alone together. That night she had bought thick steaks to cook, and sour cream to go in the baked potatoes, using money saved from skipping her lunch. “I think we should tell Olivia about us.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he said. “She’s probably still man-shy because of that boy who was bothering her. She would probably worry, for nothing. You wouldn’t want to do that to her, would you?”

  Jane had to admire his thoughtfulness. “I should have realized that,” she said. “Thank goodness you did.”

  ****

  Jane seemed so different to Prescott lately. She still smiled and laughed, but sometimes she seemed so far away. He wished he could say something to lift her spirits at those times, but was constantly mindful of the incident with the flowers.

  It seemed as if everyone was becoming somewhat moody. The news from Europe was worse. Each day, new accounts of further advances by Hitler’s armies filled the newspapers. Germany invaded the Soviet Union on June 22nd, continuing its takeover of that part of the world. It seemed incredible, but Germany now occupied Denmark, Norway, Luxembourg, Belgium, The Netherlands, and France, while actively attacking Great Britain. Italy’s and Japan’s hostility had people talking in hushed tones, wondering where this would all lead. Some even told of relatives who were suffering from the occupations, or running from oppression.

  Prescott could not help wondering how long the U.S. could stay uninvolved. It looked like all his hopes and plans would have to be abandoned. Yet he was not ready to admit defeat, and he continued on his course in the face of the increasingly obvious obstacles.

  One Wednesday evening in a restaurant, when Jane had excused herself to powder her nose, Prescott overheard a conversation at a dinner table near theirs which left him feeling uneasy. The couple, whose relatives had recently taken in some refugees, were discussing the need to open their own home.

  “I know it will mean extra work for you,” the man had said. “But my cousins tell me they are hiding from authorities, and their lives depend on getting out of the country. They need some place to go.”

  “Do you promise it will only be for a few weeks?” said the wife.

  “I can’t say for sure,” the man admitted, “but I heard they are—” His voice was drowned out by the band starting up again. But Prescott saw the wife daub her eyes with her handkerchief, and nod.

  ****

  One night in mid-July, Lloyd seemed to rethink his “don’t tell Olivia” policy. “I would like to take you and Olivia on a little trip,” he told Jane. “I’ve borrowed a car. We’ll picnic and enjoy the sunshine.”

  “That sounds lovely,” she said. “I will just tell Olivia I ran into you and you invited us. We will have to be careful,” she added, “and not let her see how much we love each other.” Their declarations of love were like messages from heaven, when Lloyd uttered them.

  On the morning of their trip, Olivia, who seemed not to have guessed the truth, was up very early. “It’s wonderful that you ran into Lloyd again,” she said. “It was sweet of him to invite us for a picnic. But what does he know about picnics? I made a big breakfast for us, just in case there isn’t enough food.”

  It must have been nerves, but eating anything for breakfast was the last thing Jane wanted to do. She waved Olivia away. “Maybe we should call Lloyd,” she said, although she had no idea how to reach him. He did not have a phone. “I think I’m ill.”

  Olivia looked so sad, Jane was forced to change her mind. She got out of bed, and by the time she was done bathing felt somewhat better. She told herself she should not be so nervous about Olivia seeing them together, that everything would work out. When she went into the kitchen, she managed to take a few bites of the breakfast Olivia had prepared, and assured her sister that their day would not be spoiled.

  Lloyd arrived on time, driving up to the front of their house in a shiny black Nash. He held the door gallantly for each of the ladies and dashed back around to his own side. “It’s almost a shame it’s such a nice day,” he said. “This car has the Weather Eye, the finest climate control system.” He proudly showed them the other features of the car, as if he owned it.

  “Father owned a Stutz,” said Olivia. “But this is prettier.”

  It occurred to Ja
ne that Olivia was flirting, just a bit, with Lloyd. She was like that with many of the men she saw, those who walked her home from her classes at the college and those whom she knew from high school who came to visit in their parlor occasionally. Jane knew it was harmless but was surprised to find herself annoyed when Lloyd was the target. For his part, however, he treated Olivia almost like a child.

  They drove along the West Side Highway onto the Henry Hudson Parkway and crossed over into the Bronx. Then they drove along the Grand Concourse, looking at all the luxury apartment buildings.

  Lloyd pulled into the Botanical Gardens, and they strolled around, looking at all the flowers and trees. They sat under one and feasted on cold chicken and peaches, relaxing in the sun, and attempted to fly a kite Lloyd had brought along.

  But when it was time to leave, Jane noticed they were not headed back the way they came. They went to Westchester. When she asked Lloyd, his face got somewhat grim. “I have to make one stop,” he said.

  They drove to Valhalla, where Lloyd pulled into a parking lot. The building before them was a mansion, with manicured sprawling grounds, and the sign on it said Garden Acres Insane Asylum. Lloyd put the emergency brake on. “I would like you to come with me to visit my sister,” he said softly. The look in his eyes was one Jane could not refuse, and even though she had never heard Lloyd speak of a sister, she asked no questions.

  But Olivia seemed distressed. “May I stay out here?”

  Lloyd patted her hand. “Of course. We won’t be long.”

  He took a package out of the trunk of the car and led Jane into the dim exterior, where her eyes took a few moments to adjust after the bright sun outside. A nurse came toward them, and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Hammer. She is in the day room.”