She felt anger filling her lungs, again. How dare Beth bring these troubles upon her and ruin her, Frima’s, personal happiness! She wanted to scream out loud, but that wasn’t her way. She forced herself to breathe deeply, splashed cold water on her face, and deliberately slowing her pace, she walked over to her mother’s office.
“So, do you want to tell me about this letter? Do you want me to read it?” Mama spoke gently, noting her daughter’s woebegone face.
Frima hesitated only a moment. There was nothing to hide, really. Mama’s eyes were wide open. She knew what was brewing with Frima and Jack, and the whole world would know about Beth soon enough. She handed over the envelope.
“Why are you smiling?” Frima asked.
“That Bess!” Mama said. “Always so intense, so dramatic. ‘Personal and confidential,’ as if the wrong person might get hold of her letter.” She unfolded the pages. Her smile faded as she quickly scanned the lines. “Put the latch on the door, Frimaleh,” she said. “You don’t mind if I read this again a little more carefully?”
“Go ahead.”
“So she is Bethesda now—or Beth? Well, Beth writes a very young and very thoughtless letter.”
“It’s . . . ruthless,” said Frima, slowly, finding the word she sought. “I never thought I could say that about Bess . . . Beth. But that’s what it is.”
“So it seems. But it is also a desperate letter, and desperate people sometimes are ruthless. You know, don’t you, that she really can’t go home to her family. Her life there was bad enough, but after a taste of freedom, and some experience of what good is, it could be intolerable. You know what her daily existence has been, who she is. And she needs and wants you to be her friend. That, at least, is perfectly clear.”
“I know, Mama, but she puts me in such a position!”
“Very true. And what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to call her. Tomorrow, I guess. I’m too upset with her today. I can’t tell her not to do this, to think about it a little longer, but I will tell her I won’t lie to Jack. I really wish she’d tell him herself, though, and right away.”
“Yes.”
“I mean, doesn’t she know that this will really change his life? That if she’s not there, he’ll have to spend more time at the store and less at his classes?”
“And less time with you?” Mama spoke very evenly.
“That’s not the point!” Frima felt herself flushing hotly.
“Well, maybe not. But perhaps Beth knows, as I do, that she doesn’t really have to worry about Jack, that he’s quite capable of taking care of himself.”
“There you go, again. Don’t you like him at all?”
“Now, you know better than that! Of course, I like him, and what I said is not a criticism. It’s a compliment, actually. Why would you think otherwise?”
“I know, I know,” Frima answered in a small voice, “but I’m so mad at her, Mama. I’ve never felt like this. What on earth can I do?”
“First, you can calm down. This is not the end of the world. For you or for her. She must get away from that house where she feels so miserable. Then, who knows? Maybe the great romance comes to nothing. Once she’s away from her family, which is the main thing, she may not be so anxious to move in with him.”
“I believe she loves him, Mama.”
“Ah, well, you girls fall in love so quickly.” Mama smiled, but she gave Frima a significant look. “He’s a nice young man, you say?”
“Very. I’ve only met him once, spent that one evening with him, but I really liked him. He’s smart, too, and steady—mature. I believe he’s been good for her.”
“Well, then, maybe their living together is not such a bad thing. People have to live their lives.” Mama gave a big sigh. “Still, I feel sorry for her poor mother.”
“Her mother?” Frima was taken aback. She was caught between laughter and tears.
“Yes, her mother. You’re so surprised?”
“The woman you once referred to as equal parts nudnik and harpy?”
“Well, I was wrong about the harpy.” Mama gave Frima a wicked little wink. “Harpies shriek. That one suffers in sighs and murmurs. But, seriously, you must persuade Beth to keep in touch with her mother. The father, he’s a nasty piece of goods—a poskudniak, as Papa would say—but the mother, she may be a nudnik, but nudniks have feelings too, and no mother can bear to lose her daughter.”
Frima promptly burst into tears and rose to leave. Mama came round her desk and hugged her. “It’s been quite a summer, hasn’t it? Now, see if you can relax, get a little rest. Don’t do anything more about this today, but tomorrow you’ll call Bess, yes?”
Frima nodded, unable to say more, and left the office. She stopped in the the kitchen to get some ice and a dish cloth. Happily, none of the staff were there to ask uncomfortable questions about why she was crying. The puffiness of her eyelids that always accompanied tears was a blasted nuisance and a dead giveaway of her distress. She meant to put the icy compress over her eyes to erase the puffiness before Jack returned with his deliveries from town. Twenty minutes with her feet up wouldn’t hurt either, but in half that time she was up knocking on the office door again.
“Mama, do you think it would be okay if we reached a compromise, kind of? If I was able to persuade Beth to tell Jack just this much; that she is moving in with Muriel—which is true enough. Then if she does move in with Vinny, she can tell him when it really happens. Sort of let Jack and the family down easy. And if she doesn’t move in with Vinny, well, nobody is the wiser and nobody is upset or unhappy.”
“Very diplomatic, darling.”
“Not dishonest?”
“Who says diplomacy is honest? Just necessary. You know you could tell Beth that if she doesn’t agree to do this, you’ll tell Jack everything—right away.”
“I was thinking of doing that. It’s sort of blackmail, though, isn’t it?”
“Another kind of diplomacy.” Mama smiled for the first time since she’d read Beth’s letter. She was silent for a moment or two. “Forget about diplomacy and blackmail. Think of yourself as a peacemaker. There are only those two—sister and brother in that bitter house—and they need each other. The mother and the father are no support, no solace. And, you know, Beth loves you, and so does Jack. Yes, yes, I think he does. So? Why do you look so surprised? Just because I cautioned you about falling head over heels for him doesn’t mean I don’t recognize real feelings when I see them. You know, it seems to me, my Frima, you have matured so much in the last few months. Sometimes I forget to tell you that. So go, go be a good influence on both of them.”
“I’ll try. I think I’ll write to her, instead of calling. Maybe I’m a coward about confronting her, but, after all, she wrote to me, and it gave me time to read and react. God knows what I might have said if I received this news by phone. Besides, writing helps me think; deliberate, I suppose. I’ll write to her tonight and mail it tomorrow, first thing. And, Mama—don’t be insulted—but I won’t show it to you before I mail it. I need to be a big girl now.” She forced a smile. “Only thing I’ll tell you is that she will know she has to agree to talk to Jack immediately, or I will.”
“So, good!”
Crying always gave Frima a headache. A walk in the fresh air was what she needed. She started down the path to the chicken coops and the barn, meaning to follow the path out through the pasture to a dirt lane seldom used by the summer people. It was a walk she’d taken often with Papa. As she entered the shaded lane, she stopped abruptly, struck by a realization, a feeling—she didn’t know what—a something, as if layers of controlled, rational thought were suddenly cracked and pushed aside. She was never going to see Papa again. Never, ever. Well, of course she knew that, had known it for years, but this was a realization from the depth of her being. Not painful or frightening, so much as vivid, intense. Papa was gone. He didn’t go on purpose; he didn’t want to leave Frima or Mama, but he had gone.
The int
ensity was short-lived, and she walked on, puzzled by the experience. Ah-ah and pa-hoi-hoi. Suddenly, oddly, these syllables came to mind, words dredged from her science classes in high school. They were terms for the lava that erupted from the earth’s volcanic depths. Hawaiian they must be. This intense experience she’d just had—not the first one this summer—it was like something from her own depths breaking through a divide and into her awareness. Very strange.
A slightly hysterical cackling broke into her thoughts, alerting her that one of the hens had strayed from the coops. Looking about her, she spied the bird on a low-lying branch, too far for her to reach and just enough above the ground to destroy any eggs the nitwit would lay or injure the hen as it tried to fly down. With sudden irritation she picked up a stone to hurl at the bird. Her arm froze. Was she crazy? She could kill the hen with a stone that large. What in the world was the matter with her? The hen’s behavior was not uncommon. The younger hens, in particular, would often ignore the comfortable, safe roosts built for them and lay their eggs according to their own internal logic. Not for nothing were they called birdbrains. How could she react so strongly to a chicken that had simply flown the coop? She stopped in her tracks. Well that was it, wasn’t it? The bird flew the coop. Papa had flown the coop, Beth was flying the coop. Mama would have to some day. No one else was going to fly the coop and leave her if she had anything to do with it.
As she came out of the lane and into the pasture she saw Jack walking toward her. Clearly he had come looking for her, for there’d be no other reason for his coming this far from the hotel. She ran to meet him and almost knocked him over with the enthusiasm of her embrace.
“Whoa, wait a minute,” he laughed. “Who would have thought a delicate thing like you could have such strength?” He was obviously delighted. “Why all this enthusiasm?”
“Just high spirits,” she replied and took his hand.
With Jack there, she gave no more thought to the incidents of the last hour. But by the time she returned to her room to write to Beth, she knew she wanted to marry him and that she’d do everything in her power to make that happen.
CHAPTER 11
For the next few days, Beth approached the ringing phone at the hotel desk as if it sizzled, and since it rang almost continuously, her daily two hours of desk duty were hours on the hot seat. It was ridiculous. Did she expect all the members of her tribe, from the Bronx back to wandering desert ancestors, to rise up and send their wrath crackling through the Bell Telephone wires? Because she was deserting them? Oh, if only Vinny were sitting at the desk with her, silently coaching her, holding her hand.
But, no, none of that, she told herself firmly. Vinny was a grown man doing what grown men do during the day: working at his job. And she was a grown woman, working at hers. Besides, it was only Frima, her dearest friend, who would call, and Frima was not wrathful. Okay, then, why didn’t she call already?
So it was with considerable relief that she received Frima’s letter a week after she posted her own. She could stop worrying about the phone ringing. Why shouldn’t everything be all right? Wouldn’t her best friend be happy for her? She remained unconvinced. Well, you are not a child. You will read it now and, if necessary, report an edited version to Vinny. Relationships required using your discretion, such as it was.
Rhubarb, Max’s hound-like creature who seemed to have adopted her, looked up at her with pleading brown eyes, and she allowed him to follow her to her cabin. Soft-coated, and completely uncritical, he would be a warm-blooded teddy bear, a comfort to her if Frima’s letter proved to be anything other than happy and supportive. Now what kind of name for a dog was Rhubarb? Why didn’t Max name him Scout or Pete or Jack? Well, lots of people did name their dogs Jack. Even pets they really loved. Enough! She hastily tore open the envelope and began reading.
My dearest Beth,
It’s taken me a good hour to try to begin this letter, I was so taken aback by yours. Not that I’m surprised you’re in love with Vinny—he seems like a great guy, and I liked him immediately. And, believe me, I was so happy that the four of us had that time together. I’d like nothing better than for those kinds of times to continue. But I have to say, isn’t this decision hasty? You’ve only known him a month or so, and this is such a big, life-changing move in which you’ll be burning bridges, to say the least. Of course, I know how important it is for you to be able to live your own life, how desperate you are to get away from the way things were before the summer, but I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I was totally enthusiastic about all this. You know that I love you like a sister and will support you in any way I can, however much I’ll miss having you just around the corner. But, I beg you, be a little cautious about burning those bridges. Of course I understand your wanting to leave your father far behind you and not look back. But your mother and brother? Don’t do that. You know your mother loves you, even if she hasn’t been able to be much help to you, and she will miss you terribly. And Jack, well, I realize that he hasn’t always been the brother you’d wish for, but, remember, he’s been struggling too. I know he’d be very upset at any real rift between the two of you, to say nothing of the added burdens your leaving will make in his own life.
I guess I sound kind of preachy and formal, and really I don’t mean to be. It’s just that it’s not easy for me to write about all this. But here goes—the part that is most difficult for me. You know without my telling you that Jack has become very important to me this summer. You’re used to girls getting crushes on your big brother, but this is different, and I expect you know that. We really care for each other. So, it’s impossible for me to keep all the news about you from him. Don’t worry, I haven’t said a word to him yet, and I won’t until I get a chance to talk to you—hopefully in a few days. Meanwhile, I have a strategy in mind, a compromise. Tell Jack that you have a job downtown and that you’re moving to Manhattan and will be sharing an apartment with Muriel. Don’t say a word about living with Vinny until you actually move in with him. Let Jack and your mom down easy, and give them a little time to get used to things. You and Jack are so much the same—bright, charming, colorful—but you are the impulsive one who may jump from the frying pan into the fire. So take a tip from him and go a little slower. Talk it over with Vinny. I bet he’ll agree with me.
I’m going to get to Monticello next week to see you—maybe for lunch? I’m sure Mama can find something for Jack to do that will keep him here. I can catch a ride in with one of the guests or Grandpa. We need to talk. So please, Bethie, call me when you’ve read this.
Love,
Frima
P.S. Mama sends her love also.
Beth sat on the steps of the cabin waiting for Frima. Rhubarb, napping rather heavily against her, let out a big sigh and Beth echoed him. “We need to talk,” Frima had written. And I need to paint! Talk—she wasn’t much good at that. No matter that in the Bronx apartments where she grew up in that so close and so unloving family, she was Bessie the Mouth. Blustering, hollering, whining, babbling—that wasn’t talk. Her deepest, clearest expression was in color and line, light, shadow, texture. And most people didn’t speak this private language. Frima didn’t. Vinny didn’t. But they respected it. “You don’t respect it,” she said to the dog, as she nudged him gently away, “but you don’t talk either. Maybe that’s why I like having you around.”
The dog stood up, ears alert, and woofed before Beth even heard the wheels of a car. He began to bark loudly, making a show of protecting her. It was all for show, of course. If someone even looked at him funny, he would back away. Just like me, she thought, all bravado.
A surprise. The car was not the Eisner station wagon, but a more spiffy four-door sedan. Oh, my God, was that Jack at the wheel? No, an older man. There were three people in the car. A delegation? She walked over a little tentatively to greet them, just as the stranger, sportily dressed and nice looking in a middle-aged way, moved out of the driver’s seat to open the passenger door for Hannah Eisner, who
emerged a carefully created vision in blue polka dots. Frima, bare-legged in loafers and a familiar casual skirt and blouse, bobbed out of the back seat, a taller, younger version of her mother.
“Mama left Jack to man the front desk, and Grandpa was too busy to drive, so Leon—he’s a friend, one of Mama’s suppliers, actually—drove us over here. He and Mama are going on to Woodridge to talk some insurance business and have lunch with Moe Ginsberg—but, how silly of me—you don’t know who he is.” Frima was obviously babbling to cover awkwardness, which was fine with Beth.
“But I do,” she said. “He’s the first person I ever met from the mountains. He sat next to me on the bus traveling to Monticello. Also, he’s a friend of Vinny’s.”
“In which case I’ll get a report on your young man from him. How are you, Bess—Beth, darling?” Hannah effortlessly joined their conversation, and kissed Beth on the cheek. “You look blooming!”
“So do you!”
“Well, you know, one doesn’t want to get frumpy, even in this backwater. Let me introduce you—Leon?”
“A pleasure,” said Leon. “Sorry I can’t shake your hand.” He was carrying a picnic hamper, evidently heavy.
“I thought you might like a little change from Max’s food, so I packed a little picnic for you and Frima,” Hannah said. “Leon and I will go on to Woodridge and pick Frima up around three at the main house. That way we can say hello to Max, if he’s around, and that nice Muriel—I’ve met her once or twice.”
“Well, sure, if you like. Muriel’s covering for me right now. Tell me, does everyone know everyone in this neck of the woods?”
“I don’t know a certain young man yet,” Hannah answered coyly, “but I look forward to it. Now have a nice lunch and a nice chat, girls. We have to dash.”
“Your mother should be secretary of state. What diplomacy!”
Bess and Frima Page 11
