Doris spoke up now, “Well, I think there’s maybe another alternative.”
Both sisters looked at her.
Rachel said, “And what’s that, Doris?”
“Papa’s going to come home and live with me.”
Both sisters were shocked, though for different reasons.
“Doris, do you know what you’re saying? You’re taking on the responsibility of an old man who’s almost sightless and deaf,” Lillian said in exasperation. “I think you’ve gone a little crazy.”
“Well, maybe…But one of the reasons papa bought this house was because it gave him the space he needed. I don’t know why, but he always seemed terribly afraid of being shut away. There’s just no way he can be happy in a convalescent home.”
“You can’t be serious,” Rachel said. “Why are you doing this? To prove how noble you are and how terrible we are—?”
“No, I’m doing it because papa has the right to live out his life in dignity and not be shut away like an animal. And don’t tell me about my nobility. It’s what I want to do.”
Rachel put her hands on her hips and looked at Doris. “After the way you’ve been treated, you’d take the responsibility of papa?”
Doris lost her patience. “You know something, Rachel? I think you’ve inherited a lot of the worst in mama, no matter how much you wanted to get away from her. Maybe that’s why you two had so much trouble…Where were you all these years? I needed the family, I had no one else to turn to. And now that I don’t need your help you’re worried about me!”
“Doris, what happened wasn’t our fault,” Lillian said. “It was papa and mama who—” Lillian broke off when she saw the look on Doris’ face.
“Lillian, I’m surprised at you. You made your choice with mama and papa. I don’t know all the reasons and I don’t care…it doesn’t matter anymore…But I do know you never had enough guts to say, Look, Doris never did anything to me…But as for what we’re really here to talk about, the other reason I want to take papa is because I have to live with myself, too…Anyway, it’s my decision, and if it makes you feel guilty, that’s your problem. And as for what mama and papa did to me, it doesn’t seem very important when you think of where mama’s sleeping tonight.”
Lillian began to cry. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way about me, Doris…But I mean very, very sincerely for your sake, you’re taking on an enormous responsibility—”
“Well, I guess mother’s day is never going to be over for me. Who knows, maybe that’s what I was put on this earth for…Well, if it’s okay with everybody, I’m going upstairs and get some rest. It’s been a hard day for all of us.”
When she’d gone, Rachel lit a cigarette and said, “Lillian, do you honestly think she’s doing this from the goodness of her heart?”
Lillian looked at Rachel as she thought back to that Christmas when Doris had taken her to Capwell’s Department Store and all the other times they had shared. How great their love and devotion had been then. How had they come to lose that feeling? Her own weakness and fear were to blame, and she knew it. “I don’t quite get what you mean, Rachel.”
“Don’t you really? Well, consider that papa’s a very, very rich man and—”
“Rachel, Doris implied it and she was right…I paid the price for what I got from mama and papa. And the price was high, take it from me, Rachel. But you…you’ve all the money you could ever need, and you’re worried about papa’s money? Well, to answer your question, yes, I think Doris is doing this out of the goodness of her heart. As a matter of fact, I wonder how she ever got into this family.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
OTTO AND HELGA HAD been with Sara and Jacob for so long there was little problem persuading them to move into the city and continue on as members of the family. Otto had lowered his eyes in gratitude when Doris told him how much he was needed. With Sara’s death they had felt their services would no longer be required, and they had wondered how they could ever find another position, especially at their ages.
Otto would take over Jacob’s care, Helga would maintain her status as housekeeper, and Mrs. Henderson would continue in her role as Henry’s companion. But Doris would provide the love, making sure that their days would be spent as human beings, not outcasts.
All the pieces would fall into place, Doris thought. Lillian, her children and grandchildren, would be frequent visitors. The holidays would be spent as a family at Doris’ home, and if Rachel happened to be in town the door wouldn’t be slammed in her face. It was late in the day for slamming doors…better to open them…Michele, Steven and Pamela would come from time to time—and by God, she was going to send for Gary and her grandchildren, once and for all.
When she brought Jacob home, he was settled in Michele’s old room with his own familiar furnishings around him. After a week or so he seemed somehow more at peace and the adjustment was really not as difficult as Doris had anticipated it would be.
It was nine o’clock of an evening when she looked in to see if he were still awake. The radio was playing softly, although he had fallen asleep. She removed the tiny ear phone, turned the knob off and pulled the covers under his chin. Then she looked in on Henry. He too was sleeping peacefully.
She walked down the stairs to the den, poured herself a large scotch and drank it down before she leaned her head back against the sofa pillow. As she looked up at the ceiling she wondered how she was going to handle the next, and most difficult, chore. For a moment her courage wavered. A letter to Aaron would be the simplest way, but it would also be the most cruel and cowardly. God, this wasn’t going to be easy, but when the hell had anything ever been easy? Now pick up that phone and call.
“Doris, I’ve been going crazy. I know you said you’d call when you could. But for God’s sake, one call last week for three minutes?”
“I know, Aaron, but a lot of…changes have taken place—”
“Changes? Such as?”
Calmly, quietly, she told him all of it. “It seemed the only thing to do, Aaron. Human beings shouldn’t be discarded like old shoes. I couldn’t do that to my father.”
A long, long silence hung between them before he responded. “Well, that’s quite a project you’ve taken on for yourself. Where does that leave us?”
Swallowing hard, trying to delay it, she answered, “I’m not sure…”
“What does that mean?” he said, with more anger in his voice than he intended.
“I guess it means that I just can’t bring myself to abandon Henry…Aaron, please try and understand. Let Henry live out his days decently. As for my father, he’s an old man…I want him to know that at the end he was wanted and loved and—”
“And what about me?”
She could no longer hold back the tears. “Aaron, I love you. But nobody owns themselves…we’re born with obligations. More and more I believe the choices were really made for me a long time ago…Giving you up is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. Don’t you know that?”
Of course he knew, and it was just as difficult for him to give her up. But he also felt she wasn’t thinking realistically. The day would soon come when Henry would no longer be able to even feed the pigeons and her father’s days were numbered. And what would happen to her after that? He had to do some thinking for both of them now. Yes, he had pushed her into a decision, not only because it seemed sensible in terms of her life but because he wanted his happiness too. Now he felt ashamed in the face of her strength and conscience. Still, he wasn’t going to allow her to make this kind of a sacrifice alone…At this moment he saw only one alternative. Compromise. They were both healthy, vital, productive people with years ahead of them. She was more than worth waiting for, and the odds were in his favor…“Forgive you? I love you more, if possible. But, Doris, you do have a choice.”
“What, Aaron?”
“Well, it’s less than I would have liked…but as they say, half is better than nothing. Do you think you could be satisfied with a pa
rt-time, sort of unofficial husband? I’m going to be in San Francisco at the Fairmont on Thursday.”
Doris could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Finally she answered, “I hadn’t thought in terms of choices…I felt there was only this one road to take—”
“Well, you’re wrong, you know. There are alternatives. What do you think?”
“You mean about the sort of unofficial husband? You say you’ll be here Thursday?”
“Yes.”
After a long pause she answered, “We’ll talk about it then…” Dear God, Aaron, how much I love you…
After she hung up she looked across the room to her typewriter sitting on her desk. Rags to riches…And she had the greatest wealth of all. With tears of gratitude, she took out a sheet of paper, put it into the roller and began with the title:
PORTRAITS
CHAPTER ONE JACOB WAS BORN IN a village which is no longer on the map. History and war have changed that…
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH words to express my deepest gratitude and profound thanks to my publisher, Don Fine. No author has been more privileged than I to have worked with an editor such as he. The arduous task of having written Portraits could not have been accomplished without the understanding that I received.
Turn the page to read an excerpt from Cynthia Freeman’s Seasons of the Heart
Chapter One
THE DAY BEGAN THE same as a million others. Nothing in the universal scheme of things was any different, but by the time Ann Coulter watched the sun set low in the Pacific she knew the rest of her life had been unalterably changed. On December 23, 1969, Ann had come face to face with her own mortality.
Sitting in the shadows of early twilight, she was haunted by a hundred fantasies. Her life seemed to be made up of nothing but endings. Birth and death were inevitable, but the choices made along the way were her own. And such hard choices they had been.
What she had done this afternoon had taxed her strength to the breaking point. Placing Phillip in a nursing home was the hardest decision she had ever made. The sad images revolved in her mind until she thought she would go mad. Those long corridors filled with people in wheelchairs, the helpless men and women who had once raced to school, fallen in love, raised children of their own now reduced to total dependency. These were human beings no one seemed to want. Was this how people were expected to end their days? Ann could not come to terms with life’s cruelty. She was not afraid of growing old. It was the indignities of aging she could not bear. And for Phillip to have to suffer so before he was even sixty! She would never forget his bewildered expression when she said goodbye.
Leaving him in the nursing home had been like sending him to oblivion. How could she come to terms with herself, knowing that she alone was responsible?
It was tragic to end a marriage of almost thirty years, even if those years had not all been happy ones. In a way it would have been easier if he had died. Then the decision would have been God’s. She would have been sad, but surely she would have found some peace in the natural process of bereavement. This way there was no peace; instead, she was plagued with guilt. It wasn’t fair that life had placed that burden on her shoulders. Though she had watched Phillip’s decline, she had rejected the idea of sending him away by becoming oblivious to his loss of memory, and by reacting to his vagueness with anger. But what good would it do to think about all that now?
Staring out toward the San Francisco Bay she wondered what had happened to the years. Would she ever erase the sound of his voice asking, “Why are you doing this to me?” He knew that he was being abandoned, and at that terrible moment, she wanted to scream out, “I’m not leaving you here!” But she knew that she couldn’t do that. Dr. Cohn’s words kept her from weakening. “I know how you’re feeling, Ann. Sending someone you love to a nursing home is probably the most painful decision a person can make. But, as you asked me before—no, I don’t think it’s wise to keep him at home any longer. His condition will only deteriorate. No matter when you do this, it isn’t going to be easy.”
Wise Dr. Cohn. She knew he was right. It was no longer safe for Phillip to be home. Yet the rationale offered her no comfort. All she could do was hold him close and whisper, “I love you, Phillip. I’m sorry, darling….”
Suddenly she realized that it was completely dark. Brushing aside her tears, she turned on a lamp and poured herself a brandy. Passing the coffee table, she glanced down and saw a copy of New Horizons. Many of her professional achievements were chronicled in those pages. She laughed bitterly. During the interview, she had tried not to reveal too much of her personal life, especially facts concerning her marriage, but the reporter had kept pressing her for details. How had Phillip dealt with her success? Had he felt threatened by it? What was their relationship like? A marriage of almost thirty years was certainly good for a little space, surely worth mentioning for its longevity alone. Ann fielded most of the questions with vague but cheerful answers. On Phillip’s illness, she remained silent. He was entitled to his dignity.
Picking up the magazine, she turned the pages until she came to the image of herself which stared back. It belied her forty-nine years, although today she felt as if she were a hundred. The lonely silence was more than she could bear. Quickly she got up and put on a record, “Au Clair de Lune,” and sat back on the couch, still staring down at her picture. The caption was black and bold: MODEST AFTER HUGE SUCCESS.
A small voice within her whispered, It’s all a travesty, isn’t it? I’m no more prepared to handle my life now than I was when my mother died.
As though a veil had lifted, Ann looked back to her childhood and saw herself clinging to her father after the funeral. She had been six then, and oh, how she had loved him. She was all he had left—or so he had said. And Ann had believed him, until two years later, when he had met Stella Burke. The pain of her mother’s death had hardly faded, and Ann could still hear her own pathetic sobbing as she sat alone in her room the night he’d married Stella.
All through her teens she’d continued to feel as if her father had betrayed not only her mother’s memory but Ann herself. No wonder that when Phillip had come into her life she had been so eager to escape home.
Chapter Two
THE YEAR WAS 1941, the month was March, and the world was alive with the sounds of spring. It seemed as though fate had directed Ann to the right place at the right time. She was the maid of honor at the wedding of her dearest friend, Ruthie, and Phillip was best man for the groom, Kenny Newman. Ann’s first glimpse of Phillip made her believe in the refrain to “Love in Bloom,” which Jack Benny sang every Sunday on the radio. His tall good looks were exactly calculated to sweep a romantic, lovely, and very vulnerable girl off her feet.
It was all so simple back then. There were three rules: one fell in love, got married, and had children. Listening to the strains of Lohengrin as Ruthie came down the aisle, Ann dreamed of becoming Mrs. Coulter. Those were heady times for romance. America was on the brink of war, and Hollywood had taken a firm grip on the national imagination. Ann had grown up seduced by the silver screen with its instant romances and promises of happily ever after.
Whether or not Phillip Coulter resembled Robert Taylor, Ann saw him as a hero. His hair perhaps was not as dark, and his eyes not quite so blue, but she was convinced that his beautifully molded lips, which she longed to feel against hers, and his strong chin with the heartrending cleft, were identical to her idol’s.
She felt as though she’d melt as she danced in his arms the night of the wedding. He was her prince charming who had come to take her away, make her happy, transport her to a vine-covered cottage to the tune of “Tea for Two.”
But once the wedding was over and Phillip escorted her home, standing facing him at her front door she no longer felt quite like Cinderella. Her violet eyes misted over.
She prayed that Phillip would not sense that she was on the verge of tears. She had hoped, wished, that he would take her in hi
s arms, kiss her lingeringly. But instead, he stood rather awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. Finally he blurted out, “Well, it’s really been nice getting to know you.”
Ann wanted to cry. He made it sound so final. During the rehearsals and the little suppers after, she’d gotten the feeling that Phillip liked her quite a bit. At the wedding, he had danced with her more than with anyone else. Yet now, he was leaving without any mention of seeing her again.
Ann went to bed that night wondering what she’d done wrong. If only she looked more like Veronica Lake! But she didn’t, and Phillip didn’t like her enough even to ask for a date. She scarcely shut her eyes that night. When the alarm went off the next morning, she wanted to throw it against the wall.
Exhausted, she dressed with more reluctance than usual for her job at the stocking counter at I. Magnin’s. She envied Ruthie safely launched as a bride. Well, Ann thought, cheered somewhat by the soft spring morning, maybe he’d call. Maybe.
But a week came and went, and the phone didn’t ring for her. She cried into her pillow every night. It was obvious that Phillip just didn’t like her. The only comfort was Ruthie, already back from her honeymoon on romantic Santa Catalina Island. Sitting across from her at Townsend’s Restaurant, Ann found some comfort in being able to pour out her misery.
“I guess I’m just awfully dumb, Ruthie, to have fallen in love with someone who doesn’t even know I’m around. But I really thought he liked me.”
“I’m sure that he does, Ann. Who could help liking you?”
“Well, my stepmother for one. I don’t think I’m all that lovable. And obviously I’m not very desirable, or Phillip would have called.”
“Don’t put yourself down. So what if he doesn’t call? There are plenty of other fish in the sea.”
But at that moment, Ann thought that no one could ever love her, least of all Phillip Coulter. And he was the one she wanted.
Portraits Page 73
