The Winchesters

by James Lincoln Collier

  “Is that what you dreamed—that someday you would have part of the family's money?”

  “No, Chris, I'm too smart for that now. I'm never going to get any of it. Oh, they'll take care of me, of course. I'm part of the family now, and no matter what happens, they'll see that I have a roof over my head and food to eat. But I'm Marie Scalzo. I didn't grow up in their world. I don't think the way they do. People like the Winchesters believe that they have a right to their privileges. They never question any of it. Oh, they give a lot of thought to their charities, of course. They give away more money in a year than most families see. But they never question any of it. People sometimes say that the Winchesters give to all those charities out of guilt, as a sop to their consciences. But they're wrong. The Winchesters don't feel guilty about having wealth and power. They give to charity simply because that's what people in their social class do. But that's not me, Chris. I know it, and they know it, and I'll never really be part of it. I'll always be the poor relative who helps to run the household. That's the beginning and the end of it. But I wanted you to have your chance.”

  “And the twins?”

  “And the twins, of course. But they'll never have the chance you have, because you're six years ahead of them. It was you I was thinking of that afternoon when I stood in that entrance hall in those shabby jeans, watching your aunt and uncle come down those long stairs.”

  I thought about that for a minute. “Why would I have the chance, and not you?”

  “For one thing, you're blood. I'm in the family by marriage. For another, you're male. The Winchesters are not feminists. For another, you're young and can be molded to their way. Remember what I told you before —they're always on the lookout for talent in the family they can make use of.”

  “But Mom, Uncle Foster has never said anything about bringing me into the business.”

  “I can't promise you that he will,” she said. “He hasn't said anything to me, and he won't. He'll simply assume that it's his decision, not mine. I just have a feeling in my bones.” She stopped for a minute. “Did you know that Skipper's flying in from Switzerland?”

  I hadn't seen my grandfather since Christmas. “He is?”

  “It's because of the strike. He wants to be here, where he can be on top of things. We'll see what happens.”

  “Mom, suppose I don't want it. Suppose I'm like Dad, and decide to go into social service?”

  She looked at me. “That's something you'll have to decide for yourself when the time comes. It's not a decision a fourteen-year-old boy should be making.”

  I thought some more. “Mom, do you think that if I married Marie, they wouldn't take me into the business?”

  She shook her head. “They wouldn't like it very much. They'd expect you to marry somebody from your own social class, who had been trained to entertain, to manage a big household. They would want you to marry somebody who had grown up learning how to sit next to senators and even presidents and appear witty and charming and attractive. Do you think Marie could do that?”

  “Mom, suppose I married Marie and went off and joined the Peace Corps or something.”

  “I don't think that's what Marie has in mind, Chris.”

  “I don't think you're right, Mom. I think she would do it.”

  She took hold of her chin and kind of nodded to herself. Then she said, “Why don't you bring Marie up here sometime and show her over the house? Sometime when nobody's around. Just to see how she reacts.”

  “Maybe I will,” I said.

  CHAPTER 10

  It was the last week in August. The strike deadline was September 1, and a few days after that school would start. It wasn't very good timing. Half the kids' parents worked in the Winchester Mills, and by the first day of school they'd all be plenty sore at the Winchesters. There wasn't anything I could do about it. I had to go to school. All I could do was pray I could get them to understand that I wasn't as much of a Winchester as they thought.

  As far as the strike went, I had pretty much given up trying to figure out the rights and wrongs of it. It was clear enough that there was plenty of foreign competition for the Winchester electronics division: You could see Japanese transistors and so forth in stores in Everidge. But were the mills really losing money? Was it all just a game to see if they could push wages down? If the union leaders couldn't prove it, I didn't see how I was going to be able to find out. I'd got one thing clear by now, though: The Winchesters had power and they were going to use it to the advantage of the family when they got a chance. When it came down to their own people, the Winchesters were as nice as they could be. For example, Uncle Foster's nurse, who took care of Dad and him when they were little, was pretty old now, and couldn't walk very well anymore. But Uncle Foster wouldn't put her in a nursing home, the way most people would. She was still living in her old room on the third floor: One of the maids carried her meals up on a tray, and Uncle Foster generally went up to chat with her for a few minutes every day. He always said, “She's spent all her life in this house, and she's going to die here.”

  But when it came down to the mill workers and other people in town, that was business and another matter altogether. It was a funny thing: The Winchesters were generous and kind to a lot of people. They hadn't had to take in Mom and me and the twins after Dad died, but they had. But they weren't generous and kind to everyone.

  “Why should they be?” Mom said. “They can't take care of everybody in the world.”

  “Do you think they're trying to break the union?” I asked.

  “I haven't any idea. If they are, we'll never know and neither will anyone else except Uncle Foster, Skipper, and one or two others. My advice to you, Chris, is to stay out of it. If any of your friends at school say anything to you, just tell them you don't know anything about it. Don't offer any ideas on the subject. Anything you say will be taken wrong.” Of course, Mom didn't realize how tough it was going to be at school; none of them did.

  To put it out of my mind, I concentrated on thinking about Marie. Did she really think I was going to end up living in the big house, and she might live there, too? I decided maybe I would do what Mom had suggested —take Marie up there and see what she said. It would be a good way to bring up the topic, anyway. Uncle Foster was at the mills practically night and day now; it would be easy to find a chance when nobody was around.

  Then Skipper arrived from Switzerland, in order to be there for the strike. According to what Mom said, even though Uncle Foster ran the mills now, he looked up to Skipper and always consulted him on major things. Skipper had his own bedroom and living room on the second floor, but of course he ate with the family and generally used the living room downstairs to be with everybody. It had been his house once: He had been born there, right in that house, he had grown up there, and when his own dad, my great-grandfather, had died, it had become his and he had raised my dad and Uncle Foster there. He had a right to be there. He was tall and had white hair and carried a cane, but that was mostly for show, because he stood straight as an arrow and went riding for an hour every morning before breakfast. Everybody looked up to him, including Uncle Foster. We all called him Skipper, even Ernest and me.

  I admit, I was kind of scared of him. I didn't know him very well, because he retired and moved to Switzerland a couple of years after we came to the gatehouse, and even though he came to visit four or five times a year, especially at Christmas, he usually had people to see in New York and Boston and Washington, and I never got to see him very much. So I didn't know him well, not the way Ernest did, who'd had him around all the time he was growing up. It made me nervous to talk to Skipper, for fear I would say something wrong.

  The second day he was home from Switzerland he walked down to the gatehouse to see us. It was just after breakfast. I was washing the dishes and putting away the milk and cereal, and Mom was getting the twins dressed. We saw him pass by the window. “There's Skipper,” I said.

  “Oh, dear,” Mom said. She quickly brushed
back her hair with her fingers.

  Skipper didn't knock—he just walked in. Mom went over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Hello, Skipper,” she said. “It's nice to have you back.”

  “I wish I'd had a less troublesome reason for coming back,” he said. He stood there just inside the door, looking around. “Hmm,” he said after a minute. “I'd forgotten how small this place was. Can you manage all right?”

  “We're all right for the moment,” Mom said. “It's going to be a tight fit when the twins get bigger.”

  “Yes, I imagine it will.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Mom said.

  “I've just had my breakfast,” he said. “But I'll sit for a minute.” He sat down at the old oak table, his cane still in his hand. I noticed that the cane had the head of an eagle as the handle, an eagle with its beak wide open. I started to clear away the rest of the cereal bowls, but he waved his hand at me. “Sit down, Christopher,” he said. “It's been some time since we've had a talk.”

  I put the cereal bowls in the sink and sat down, feeling nervous. He sat there with one leg over the other, flicking the cane around a little, and looking at me. I noticed how blue his eyes were, like Ernest's. “How soon does school start for you, Christopher?”

  “In about a week, Skipper.” Ernest's private school didn't start for two weeks after that.

  “And what grade are you going into?”

  “I'm starting high school. The ninth grade.”

  “And do you like your school?”

  Whoever liked school? “It's okay, I guess.” He was making me more nervous with all his questions.

  “I suppose you have a lot of friends at school.”

  Behind me Mom whispered something to the twins, and they slipped outside, to leave me alone with my grandfather. “Yes.” I wondered if that was true. “Not so many as I would have if I lived closer to town, but I have friends.”

  “I see.” He uncrossed his legs, put his cane straight up and down with his hands on top of it, and rested his chin on his hands, so he could stare straight into my face. “And Ernest—Ernest is one of your friends?”

  “Sure. I guess Ernest is one of my best friends. Only he's away a lot. Teddy Melas is my best friend at school.” That probably wasn't true anymore, either.

  “Teddy Melas? Who's that? A boy from school?”

  “Yes. We've been friends since first grade.”

  “And his people—who're they?” Skipper asked.

  “His mom and dad work in the mills.”

  “I see.” He took his chin off the head of his cane, sat up straight, looked away from me, and flicked the cane at a cornflake that was lying on the floor. “I understand from your uncle Foster that you have a girlfriend in town, too.”

  I blushed. I just wished everybody wasn't so interested in my girlfriend. “Yes,” I said. “Her name's Marie Scalzo. She's very pretty and nice.”

  Skipper laughed. “I'm glad to hear that she's pretty. Nothing else will do for a Winchester. Your grandmother was a great beauty when she was young. After she came out in nineteen thirty-two, all the photographers wanted her to model for advertisements. But her father wouldn't allow it, of course. That was a different day. By the time Ernest's mother came along, young women were doing all kinds of things that would have been considered shocking in my time. Your aunt Ellen posed in garb her mother wouldn't have permitted the maids to wear. I think Anne takes after her grandmother—she has some of the same beauty, I think.”

  “My mother's pretty, too,” I said.

  He looked at me again. “Yes, I suppose she is,” he said. “It's a different kind of beauty.”

  It wasn't as good a kind, was what he meant. Mom was dark and had dark eyes and dark brown hair, like me, and on Ernest's side they were all blond and light-skinned. “Her parents were Welsh,” I said.

  “I know,” he said. Then he said, “Christopher, what do you think of the idea of going away to a boarding school?”

  “What?” I said. “Private school?” It was a complete shock. I'd never even thought that they might send me to a private school.

  “You seem surprised,” Skipper said.

  “I thought—I mean Ernest—” I didn't know what to say.

  He tapped the cane lightly on the floor and looked at me sharply. “There isn't any very good reason why you shouldn't have as good an education as Ernest, is there, Christopher?”

  “No. There isn't.”

  “Good. I'm glad you feel that way. In retrospect, I can see that it's something we should have done sooner. We always intended something like this, if you showed promise. But you seemed to be doing well in school, and there didn't seem to be any rush about it.”

  I sat there feeling strange. So they had always had plans for me, provided I didn't mess things up some way. It was funny that they just took it for granted they could do what they wanted with me, without asking Mom. They were going to send me to college, and if I did well, bring me into the company. Someday, if everything went right, I would be rich. Someday I could have some of that power Uncle Foster talked about. I could see, easy enough, that if it ended up with Ernest running the company, I'd be right up at the top, not much below him. And maybe if his children went off into the Peace Corps, or moved to Paris to study art, my kids would take over when the time came.

  Suddenly, all in a minute, the whole world had become different for me. It was like coming through a door into a beautiful garden and, at the end of the garden, a great mansion. The only trouble was, I didn't know if I wanted to step through that door into the garden. “Would I go to St. Paul's with Ernest?”

  “I'm not sure,” Skipper said. “We haven't got that far in our thinking. Perhaps it might be a better idea if you went someplace else. Ernest is established at St. Paul's and you'd just be following in his wake. It might be better for you to set your own course. Wakefield, perhaps.”

  That was the way the Winchesters were. They didn't do anything by chance, but looked at everything from all angles. “When would I start?”

  “As soon as practicable, I should think,” Skipper said.

  “I'm not sure I could get into a private school. Besides, it's kind of late to apply.”

  Skipper laughed. “Christopher, we're not going to ask a school to admit you. We'll simply decide where you're to go, and when, and tell them.” Then he stood up and flicked at the cornflake with his cane again. “I don't think you need bother working for Durham anymore. From now on I want you to concentrate on your studies. I'll have somebody make up a reading list. You can start on that until we settle the rest.”

  “Thank you, Skipper,” I said. He walked out into the sunshine, and I followed him out, to be polite. My heart was beating fast, and I felt strange and different. The twins were racing their bikes up and down the driveway, and Mom was watching them. Skipper waved at them with his cane as he strolled by, and then went on up the driveway toward the house. I kept watching him as he walked through the shadows of the sugar maples. Finally I couldn't see him anymore.

  When he was out of sight, Mom ran over to me. “What was it all about?”

  I looked at her. “He wants me to go to private school. He says I don't have to work for Durham anymore, but should concentrate on my studies.”

  “Oh, Chris. How wonderful. I always said they had plans for you.”

  I stood there thinking. I knew I ought to be excited and happy, like a kid on Christmas morning. But there were too many parts to it that bothered me. “What if I decide I don't want to go into the business? What if I decide I want to go into social service, the way Dad did?”

  She put her arm around my shoulder and kissed me on the side of my head. “Let's go inside and sit down.”

  We went in. She fixed herself a cup of tea, and we sat down at the oak table. The front door was open, and the sun streamed in through the screen door and fell in a patch on the floor. “Well,” she said.

  “I think they're trying to get me to break up with Marie,”
I said.

  She blew on her tea, and then she sat there thinking. “No,” she said finally. “It isn't just Marie. They see they've made a mistake. With all of this business about the strike, and the fight you and Ernest had with those boys at the pond, they've come to realize that you have a lot of friends in town.”

  I thought about that. “That's true. They're always asking about my friends.”

  “They see that you've developed some ties of loyalty there, and they realize they ought to have sent you to boarding school before. That's what it's about, Chris. They want you to make friends with what they think of as your social equals. So it isn't just Marie—it's everybody.”

  “I don't know why they're so worried,” I said. “Nobody in town likes me anymore.”

  “That's another part of it,” Mom said. “They want to get you out of town while the strike's on. They think it might be dangerous for you to be going to school here now.”

  “You mean they'd put me back in Everidge High when the strike's over?”

  “Oh, no, they wouldn't do that,” she said. “They have plans for you. They mean to see that you get a good education.” She sipped at her tea. “Chris, it's a great opportunity for you, don't you see that?”

  “Why do I have to take sides, Mom? Why can't I stay out of it? Why can't I be friends with everybody?”