Yale smiled at them. "Just in case I forget to tell you . . . I love you both very much." He told them that until the Latham Yards was in good shape he wouldn't attempt any further speculations. He assured them that there was nothing to worry about in the Latham situation. Within a few days he expected that John Norwell would accept the presidency. It was natural that Alfred Latham would start all kinds of rumors going. "What I'm not completely able to adjust to," Yale said, "is that I have, inadvertently, created a witches' brew of hatreds. . . ."
"Did you expect that Alfred and Jim Latham would love you?" Cynthia asked. She wondered sometimes at Yale's essential naïveté. "Did you think that your father would approve of our ménage à trois . . . that he would love the book?"
Agatha Latham walked into the living room, followed by Sam and Clara. She heard Cynthia's remarks. She smiled sardonically at the girls. "You young ladies have had the questionable fortune of becoming associated with a young man who quite evidently thinks he is a modern Jesus." Agatha sat down. "You'll be lucky, young man, if you don't reap Jesus's reward."
Agatha told the girls that for the next few days they were going to have to run Challenge by themselves. Yale and she would be very busy trying to patch together an executive organization at the Latham Shipyards. She smiled at Yale and asked him whether he thought that he had at last bitten off more than he could chew.
"What Aunt Agatha is really asking is, have I got cold feet?" Yale, who was sitting between Cynthia and Anne, grabbed them around the waists and pulled them to him. "Listen to me, all of you. Some people in this world must make a stand. I'm being reviled because I'm saying that every individual is fundamentally good and loving. People will say, if you believe this why couldn't you say it quietly? Why couldn't you just lead an exemplary life and prove it in a humble way? Why do you want to make enemies? Why do you shout from the high heavens that all men are brothers? People will say, we know these things. You don't have to spend a million dollars to prove them." Yale's voice had risen in volume as he spoke. He released Anne and Cynthia and stood up.
"I love you two girls deeply and intensely. I never want to lose you. But some one has to try to stem the tide of hatred and stupidity in the world. How I got myself elected to do the job, I'll never quite know. Maybe because I fell in love with Cynthia Carnell. Maybe because I met Mat Chilling. Maybe because I went to India and married Anne Wilson. What does it matter now? What does matter is that the loudest voice in our western culture is the voice that has money in back of it. It's time that the message that the three of us dared to formulate as Commandments was backed by money and lots of it." Yale plopped on the sofa and grinned at them. "Okay, I'm ranting again. But no matter. I'm not afraid."
Agatha chuckled. "Cynthia Marratt, Anne Marratt, I hope you appreciate this man. Most young women wouldn't. You have to live a long time to know a real man." She squeezed Yale's arm affectionately, and then told them that she was going to bed. As she left the living room she dropped an envelope in Yale's lap. "Here's something to help make the voice a little louder."
"I think Cynthia and I are going to be jealous of her if she doesn't cut it out," Anne said, grinning at Yale when Agatha had gone.
"What's the old hell-cat given you?" Sam asked curiously. He looked at the envelope that Yale was holding unopened.
Yale opened the envelope slowly. "Well, what do you know?" he asked excitedly. He held up a sheaf of green stock certificates. "It's Agatha's shares of Latham stock all transferred to Challenge. Do you know what that means, kids?"
Cynthia and Anne weren't quite sure, but they were impressed by Sam's astonishment. Sam asked Yale how he had managed to hypnotize Agatha. "That's equivalent to giving the foundation four million dollars," he explained. "It's even better than that because up to now Yale didn't know where in hell he stood. If Agatha had dropped dead, and her shares got into Alfred Latham's hands the stock Challenge held in Latham Shipyards, in fact, the whole damned foundation, would be on pretty thin ice."
They discussed the implications of what Agatha had done. Sam suggested that Agatha might very well leave her entire estate to Challenge. "She's worth close to a hundred million dollars," Sam said. He looked at Yale wonderingly. "If she does, she's going to give Challenge a pretty loud voice."
Yale shook his head. "I don't want any of you to get the impression that I'm after Agatha's money. I like Agatha, and she likes me. It's as simple as that. While I think that Challenge is a worthy cause, I don't want it so fat that it becomes complacent. This is a people's cause. After I have made most people aware of what we are trying to do, they will either support it spontaneously or it will die."
Clara assured him that she and Sam were going to be ardent supporters. Sam told Yale that they were going back to New York in the morning. "Agatha has answered the problem I was going to bring up. Now that Latham Shipyards are in the bag, Higgins, Incorporated would like to be repaid."
"Are you afraid the ship is going to sink, Sam?"
"Who knows?" Sam had come to enjoy Yale too much to want to shake his confidence. "Let's say that the elder Higgins talked with me yesterday. He admitted that we had done a good job. But Higgins isn't interested in owning a shipyard." Sam didn't tell Yale that the elder Higgins had suggested that the entire affair in Midhaven was assuming emotional overtones that weren't conducive to good investments. Their nearly three million dollar loan to Yale, backed by collateral in Latham stock, could go very sour if the Yards didn't get organized with several good contracts, government or otherwise.
On the way upstairs Sam told Yale that he would keep in close touch with him. He chuckled. "I don't know what it is you've got, Yale . . . but I heard a word for it once -- 'Serendipity' . . . I'm not sure, but I think it means that if you fell into a pile of horse-shit you'd come out of it sweet and clean smelling. Take Clara and me . . . we are all straightened out . . . providing I stay home nights. . . ." Sam shrugged. "I haven't got what it takes to convince her that a man needs two women."
Later, lying in bed with Cynthia and Yale, Anne asked Yale if he thought he needed two women. "Cynthia and I have wondered if you met Cynthia and married her without ever having been married to me . . . and then met me later . . . if you would have tried to talk us into living together?"
Yale looked at Cynthia. He noticed that she was waiting expectantly for his answer. Both girls leaned on their pillows and looked at him. Lying on his back between them, he looked at Cynthia's heart-shaped face and big brown eyes, and then at Anne's face, impish; her blue-black eyes sparkling. He pulled them down beside him, flopped on his stomach and nuzzled in their necks.
"You know something?" he whispered, enjoying the warm feminine fragrance of them, "only a woman would ask a question like that. If I say yes then you'll both be convinced that what you heard Sam say is right . . . that a man needs two women; on the other hand, if I say no then Anne who asked the question will be convinced that I don't really love her." Yale could feel them both snuggling against him under the sheet. "Let's not try to analyze it. Let's say by some kind of magic we were all able to love each other. Let's say that it isn't impossible in this world of hatred to love one another . . . if you really want to."
Within a few days Anne, Cynthia, Yale, and Agatha had established a temporary routine. Yale spent most of each day with Agatha at the Latham Shipyards. Agatha took over Alfred's vacated office. Together they studied the Yards departmentally, interviewing superintendents and foremen and planning for the future. Senator Williams, yielding to Agatha's long-distance telephone prodding, assured them he was working for a Navy contract for the Yards. He told them that he hoped the situation at the Yards was settling down. There were some doubts in high places whether the recent changes in ownership might make it unwise politically to seek a contract for Latham's. He wanted to know what connection Challenge Inc., which was creating quite a fuss, had with Latham's. Agatha told him to stop being an old biddy and concentrate on getting Latharn a contract.
Each day a
s Ralph Weeks drove them to work they passed the Marratt Corporation factory. The place looked strangely deserted. It was the third week of the strike. A handful of pickets walked up and down in front, and looked sourly at their car as they passed.
While Yale and Agatha were trying to re-organize the Yards, Anne and Cynthia worked desperately to develop a clerical staff to handle the flood of mail that had descended on Challenge. Barbara Marratt, having nothing better to do, and feeling ill at ease at home, had temporarily moved in with them. The three of them alternated at being nursemaid for the two children. While one of them watched the babies the others tried to train a staff of some twenty girls into a system for handling the thousands of membership cards that were being received from the sale of the book.
The morning that Liz Marratt drove up and parked her car near the Challenge barn, Barbara was minding both babies. Cynthia and Anne, appalled at the accumulation of mail, had been interviewing older women who they hoped might be indoctrinated with the Challenge ideas. As Yale had pointed out to them, the correspondence which was rapidly piling up, and ranged all the way from violent, vituperative crank letters to letters sincerely seeking advice on every conceivable problem, would require a staff of trained and sympathetic people to handle it. Yale had insisted that all the letters be answered. Cynthia, Anne, and he had tried valiantly each night to wade through the accumulating mail, but it had quickly become obvious that their main job in the future was going to be to teach a competent staff to carry out their instructions.
Liz walked into the busy office and joined the line of women whom Cynthia and Anne were interviewing. For nearly fifteen minutes she waited while her astonishment and anger grew apace. She had read Spoken in My Manner , and been shocked. Nothing in her own background had prepared her for such a casual linking of sex and religion. It seemed wrong to her somehow, and yet she was strangely attracted by the idea. She wondered what influence these girls had had on Yale. Why did he insist on living with both of them? It was dirty, somehow . . . while the idea of a nice sexual relationship, that maybe encompassed God, was possible with one person . . . Liz had known it a little with Pat, and once quite deeply with Frank Middleton . . . Liz couldn't understand how a woman could accept a man who had been with another woman. Ugh, she thought.
The line of women she was in had moved up in front of Cynthia. Liz looked at her and thought, the girl is really quite beautiful, and so is that other one . . . Anne -- was that her name? She knew it must be Anne who was quietly talking to some woman just ahead of her in line.
Cynthia smiled at Liz, and then recognized her. "You are Yale's mother, aren't you?" she gasped, thinking it had been ten years since she had seen Mrs. Marratt. Yale's mother still impressed her as being supremely self-confident.
Cynthia quickly called Anne, who looked up surprised, and then grasped the situation. She called Ruth Willis, a woman they had hired a few days before, and turned the remainder of the interviewing over to her.
As they guided Liz into their office at the back of the barn, Liz asked them when Yale would be back. Cynthia, frightened, wondering whether Liz was going to create a scene, or deliver a blistering attack on the evils of bigamy, told her that Yale wouldn't be back until three or four o'clock.
Liz told them it was just as well. She sat down in the chair that Anne offered her and fumbled in her bag for matches and a cigarette. She finally found them, and slowly lighted one. She blinked back tears of anger. Anne suddenly realized that Liz was close to hysteria.
"So this is Anne and Cynthia." Liz's voice was tense. She had regained her perspective. For a moment she had thought these were, after all, just young girls who apparently cared for her son. Now she knew it wasn't so. She hated them. In her distaste she could visualize them cheap and shoddy. Women who traded in sex.
"Do you think you are going to get away with it?" she demanded. "You have destroyed my family. First you took Yale . . . then Barbara moved in with you. Yesterday my husband had a heart attack." Liz was pleased with the shocked expression on Anne's and Cynthia's faces. "Yes . . . you did it . . . the three of you. He's had a bad heart for several years . . . now he's flat on his back . . . put there by a rotten son and his two whores." Liz started to sob wildly. She told them almost incoherently how Pat had wanted to have Yale come back from the Army and help him. Now Yale was obviously trying to destroy his father's life. "Oh, God . . . dear God . . . where is it all going to end?"
Liz took several typewritten pages out of her pocketbook. With tears running down her cheeks, she handed them to Cynthia. "Both of you . . . read that! Don't think you'll stop Pat Marratt. He dictated that over the phone to his secretary. It will be in the Midhaven Herald tomorrow."
Through a haze of tears, her hand shaking so that Anne had to grasp her wrist to hold the paper steady so that she could read along with her, Cynthia swiftly read:
Copy for a full page advertisement in the Midhaven Herald.
KNOW THE MAN WHO LEADS YOU!
Ten years ago the international union that now represents the employees of the Marratt Corporation sent an organizer named Harry Cohen to Midhaven, Connecticut. While it is not the policy of the Marratt Corporation to engage in denunciatory tactics (we agree that our employees have the right to organize, bargain, and if necessary strike) we feel that all employees should be acquainted with the kind of man who leads them. Harry Cohen is a dangerous man. His connections and his beliefs should be questioned by each and every one of you. Ask your leader, Harry Cohen, who is demanding a ruinous wage scale for the Marratt Corporation, to explain these things to you.
ASK HARRY COHEN WHO JACK LEONARD IS?
Ask him if Leonard who was once a correspondent for the Communist Daily Worker was in constant communication with him, visiting with him at his home? Ask Harry Cohen when Leonard was discharged from the faculty of Midhaven College if he admitted freely to the President of Midhaven College that he had been sent to Midhaven to "contact" Harry Cohen? Ask Harry Cohen whether Jack Leonard is now in jail serving an extended term for conspiracy against the United States?
ASK HARRY COHEN IF HE IS A PRACTICING NUDIST?
Ask him if he has ever entertained people in his home completely naked? Ask him if he exposed his wife and daughter naked to the eyes of any and all male guests?
ASK HARRY COHEN IF HE IS A FRIEND OF YALE MARRATT?
Ask him what his connection is with the orgiastic cult that has been started at the old Langley place, now called Challenge Farm? Ask Harry Cohen if he and his wife have swum naked with other dubious citizens of this city, in company with a strange woman known as Anne Meredith Wilson Marratt, and a woman who calls herself Cynthia Carnell Chilling Marratt, born Cynthia Carnetsky? Ask Harry Cohen what goes on in this place? Ask him why his close friend is a man denounced by his father? Ask Harry Cohen if this close friend of his isn't actually a bigamist and a man who is promoting a cult that denies the existence of God?
ASK YOURSELF whether you want this Harry Cohen to negotiate for you? Ask yourself if you wouldn't be better off to throw out this Harry Cohen and his union, and negotiate directly with the company which has offered you steady employment at good wages for thirty years. Elect your own group. NOW. And have your own honest representatives contact me.
The last page of the paper was signed Patrick Marratt, President.
When Cynthia finished reading she looked at Liz in horror, unable to speak.
Anne took the pages from her, and said, "Mrs. Marratt, this is shocking! I don't understand what kind of man would do this to his son, or fight even an enemy with such underhanded tactics."
"Everything he says is true . . . you know it is," Liz said in a flat voice. "Cynthia knows it is. She knows about Jack Leonard. Both of you know that you have been flaunting yourself around here, naked and cheap. You even have the nerve to publish a book to tell the world what you have done . . . while both of you calmly go around and call yourself Mrs. Marratt . . ."
Cynthia nodded. It's true, she thought
bitterly. Everything that we have done in love and happiness with a few twists of words becomes ugly and hateful.
"You're right, Mrs. Marratt." Cynthia sobbed, "I'm a dirty Jewess. If Yale hadn't met me . . . none of this would have happened. Oh, my God . . ." Cynthia ran out of the office, heedless of Anne who begged her to wait. Through the office window they saw her running pathetically toward the house.
Anne stared grimly at Liz who was visibly shaken by Cynthia's response. Holding back her own tears, Anne said softly, "You may not know what I mean, Mrs. Marratt, but I love Cynthia. She's as fine a person as you will ever know. Whether you or your husband understand it or not, Yale is crusading against just this kind of stupid hatred. But I'm not so good as Yale. I can only respond with hatred to anyone who wants to hurt us." Anne looked at her silently for a moment, and then she smiled. Her manner changed so swiftly that Liz looked at her, astonished.
"You know something, Liz . . . I'm going to call you by your son's name," Anne said, grinning. "When I first saw you out there I thought, golly, Liz has come to us because she wants to be friends. I thought maybe it would be the beginning of a reconciliation."
"You mean that you have the nerve to think that I would accept you into my home? Two women living with my son?" Liz looked at her with blazing eyes. This woman, she thought, is worse than the Jewish one.
Anne looked at her without rancor. "Your daughter, Bobby, and I have become very good friends, Liz. She told me a long story about you and a certain Frank Middleton. . . ."
Liz stared at Anne, dismayed. She was silent.
"It's dwindled a bit in the past few years, hasn't it, Liz?" Anne continued. "But there was a time when you were calmly sleeping with two men . . . and yet you were accepted into the best homes in Midhaven." Anne took Liz's arm. "You know something, I think what you were doing is somewhat worse . . . because you had to do it without faith in either Pat or Frank Middleton. Come on, Liz, I want you to come up to our house and have a cup of coffee and break bread with us. I want you to make the biggest effort you ever made in your life. . . ." Anne's fingers tightened on Liz's arm. She smiled at her. "The only price I ask for my silence is just the attempt at understanding on your part."
The Rebellion of Yale Marratt Page 60
