She knew better than to try to enter by the harbor side. She could hear men yelling and the creak of ropes as cranes swung the massive containers onto the shore. Skirting a pile of bricks, she made her way up a narrow brick street and around to the front of the building. Here the devastation was worse. What had once been a square bordered by offices and warehouses was a landscape of ruined walls and glassless windows, naked and open to the air. One side of Stangarone’s had been ripped open to the elements. Heaps of bricks rose like dunes against the one side that was left. Boards had been nailed over most of the exposed façade, and the door was nearly hidden by the rubble.
Anne opened it and went inside. The space was frigid and gloomy, but she could make out the staircase to the second floor. She hurried up, came to an intact office, knocked on the door, and waited. She heard voices and stepped inside, to find a wooden desk, wooden filing cabinets, stacks of colored bills of lading, a black telephone, a woman who looked American, and—oh, heaven!—an American soldier standing guard by an inner door.
“Hello!” she cried brightly. “I’m so glad someone’s here. I’m Anne Wheelwright. I work at Stangarone’s in Boston. I just got off a freighter, and I’ve come over to work here.”
“Well, Anne Wheelwright, I’m glad to meet you!” The woman stood up, reached over the desk, and shook Anne’s hand. “I’m Georgia. And I’m dead beat! Why don’t you come with me. I’m going home. We’ll find someplace for you to camp out for a while.”
“Oh,” Anne said, flustered. “Thanks, Georgia. But first of all, I really would like to see my husband. He’s in the army, and he lives at this address.” She took a piece of paper from her purse and, knowing she would mangle the German pronunciation, handed it to Georgia to read.
“Oh, Goethestrasse, I know where that is. It’s a ways out. It’ll be a long walk.” She glanced at Anne’s face. “Tell you what. We’ll grab a couple of bikes, but you’ve got to be sure to bring yours back early tomorrow morning.” Grabbing a mangy fur coat off the coat rack, Georgia pulled it on and haphazardly stuck a crimson wool hat shaped like an overturned bucket on her head. She cuffed the soldier on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Pete.”
Anne followed her guide as she clattered down the wooden stairs. Georgia yanked open a wooden door, exposing a coatroom crammed with clothing, boxes, and several bikes. She wheeled one over to Anne.
“You follow me. It’s hard going out there and the cobblestones will bump your teeth right out of your head, but it’s faster than walking by a long shot. Don’t talk to anyone else, and if someone tries to take your bike, don’t hesitate to scream.” Seeing Anne’s expression, she added, “You’ll be fine. It’s a madhouse out there, but in a few days you’ll be just another daffy inmate. I reckon you’ll stay with your husband tonight and all, so he can help you get back here tomorrow. Eight o’clock, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, Georgia slammed the closet door and wheeled her bike outside.
Outside, it was cold, windy, and fully dark. Anne locked her eyes on Georgia’s hat as she pedaled her way through the throng. People no longer appeared as individuals but simply as hulking shapes converging and separating on the narrow brick lane. Bombed-out buildings loomed like turrets from nightmares, and the air was loud with the sound of cursing and occasional sobs. The air smelled of brick dust and kerosene. It was bizarre past her wildest imaginings. Here she was in her nice rose wedding suit, in her nicest high heels, seated on a rickety old bicycle, her nylons ripping as she strained to force her way along a maze of narrow, gloomy streets. Now she understood why Gwen Forsythe had looked at her oddly, why she had said, “You’re young.” You needed the energy of youth to stay sane in this dark world.
Georgia weaved along, making a sharp right here and forking left there, past houses where windows flickered with candlelight and shops with beautiful signs and no windows, past entire blocks of rubble piled in fantastic mountains, around cold heaps of stone. The façade of a church rose, strong and eternal, its spire ascending to the heavens, but as Anne passed it she saw that behind the façade was only wreckage. The farther they biked from the harbor, the more German Anne heard being spoken, until finally all she heard was the guttural, harsh German speech.
“Okay.” Georgia slammed on her brakes and pointed down a long lane paved in bricks. “This is Goethestrasse. I think the house you’re looking for is about three blocks down. Have a nice reunion, kid, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Georgia,” Anne said, but Georgia was already pedaling in the opposite direction.
No streetlights shone, but some of the houses she passed flickered with light, sufficient for her to see her way. She walked her bike, because the street was full of potholes, and she wanted to read whatever numbers still remained on the buildings.
And then she was there: 91 Goethestrasse. A handsome brick house, all its walls intact. A few of the windows were boarded up, but compared to what she’d seen, this was a citadel. Her coat and suit were rumpled from sitting on the bike and she took a moment to smooth them down. Her heart was beating crazily partly from the exertion of her bike ride, but mostly from the excitement of knowing she was about to see her beloved Herb again.
She knocked on the door. She heard voices. She waited.
The door opened. An angel stood there. Or, for a moment, she looked like an angel to Anne. Certainly she had never seen such a beautiful woman before, except perhaps at the cinema. The woman was tall and slender, with luminous blue eyes and silver-blond hair. She was obviously German and she was very pregnant.
“Yes?”
“Hello!” Anne said, smiling eagerly. “Do you speak English?”
“I do.”
“Oh, thank heaven! My name is Anne Wheelwright. I’m Herbert Wheelwright’s wife. I’ve just arrived from the United States. I have this address. Is he here?”
The dim light from the back of the house illuminated the other woman’s face. And that was all it took, a moment in the shadowy light, the recoil of the other woman’s body, the way her hands flew to cover her mouth. Anne knew.
Twenty-one
When they heard the raised voices coming from the den, Charlotte and Suzette exchanged a worried glance. Then Charlotte helped Suzette up off the living room sofa, and together they made their way into the kitchen. The den was off the kitchen, and they could overhear the argument without being caught gawking. Suzette sank onto a chair while she listened, and Charlotte paced the floor. Glorious had diplomatically removed herself to her own quarters, as she often did when tempers flared in the family. Charlotte saw Suzette’s face fall as they overheard the cause of the argument. Teddy, drunk again. The second time in less than a month.
Uncle Kellogg ambled in, drink in hand, nodded at Charlotte, and continued into the den. Soon she heard her mother shouting—about sweet cakes? Her mother wasn’t making any sense at all. Then Charlotte’s father stormed from the room, passing through the kitchen without seeming to notice Charlotte or Suzette, and then her mother flashed through, her face violently flushed. Charlotte had never seen her mother look so angry. Uncle Kellogg left the den next, casting an embarrassed smile at Charlotte, and went into the hall and up the stairs, no doubt to inform his wife of Teddy’s latest infraction.
Finally, slowly, Teddy emerged from the den into the kitchen. When he saw Charlotte and Suzette, he grinned sheepishly, stuck his hands in his jeans pockets, leaned against the refrigerator, and said, boyishly, “Oops.”
“For, God’s sake, Teddy, it’s not funny and you’re not cute!” Charlotte snapped.
To her surprise, Suzette spoke up. “It’s this family.”
Charlotte gawked at Suzette. “What?”
“It’s this family. Teddy stayed sober when he was with me in Arizona. We come here, and he gets drunk.”
Charlotte started to retort, then bit her tongue. She was aware that Aunt Grace and Mee and Uncle Kellogg had come down the stairs and were hovering in the hall, listening, and she would be damned if sh
e was going to add one more argument to the ongoing fray.
“I’m going out to see what shape the table’s in,” Charlotte said.
“I can tell you what shape it’s in,” Teddy announced gaily. “It’s trashed.”
She didn’t dare look at him. “Then I’d better move it. I don’t want my customers to find trash where the farm stand was.”
She stormed through the mudroom, out the door, and up the drive way. It was a long walk, but she needed it to help her calm down. Things had been going so well, she’d been loving this summer, she’d felt pleased with herself, even a bit virtuous, to be involving Suzette in the garden, to give her work that made her feel useful and part of the family and provided money, as well, to buy whatever little things she wanted. And it had been fun, having Teddy back. He was so lively and entertaining. During dinners, while Aunt Grace and Uncle Kellogg and the Ms had all the sparkle of a congregation of pilgrims, Teddy had brightened the room with anecdotes about his day at the antiques shop. He did fabulous impersonations, and when he got going he could be hysterical. Even the Ms laughed. And Charlotte’s mother had been so happy, having Teddy back and with a grandchild on the way. Why did Teddy have to ruin things? Was Suzette right? Was it being around his family that caused him to fall off the wagon?
She arrived at the end of the drive. There, right where she always had her farm stand, was the old Jeep, its hood up, its grille crushing the wooden table against a tree trunk. She could see that the table was broken in half, and splinters and cracks razed the surface. Fury ignited inside her. Somehow it seemed so personal. Certainly it was an ugly, destructive sight, and she chewed on her knuckles as she circled the Jeep, checking out its condition. Its tires had ripped two muddy streaks in the cool green grass.
She climbed into the Jeep. Teddy had left the key in the ignition. She turned it, and the battery kicked, but nothing else happened. She sat there for a moment, feeling utterly defeated. Suzette’s words echoed in her mind. “It’s this family.” Perhaps Suzette was right. Maybe there was something slightly off about her family—but no, that wasn’t true. Oliver was pure and simply wonderful. Of course, Oliver never stayed at Nona’s house in the “bosom of the family” for more than a couple of days at a time. So—had Oliver escaped, and in this way also avoided any sins that being with this family caused? Charlotte remembered her great transgression; her entire body flushed with heat as she thought about it. She had been so bad, so wrong, and it would not have happened if she had not worked at the bank, which was another way of being right in the heart of the family. But she also had to admit, at least to herself, that she did have a rebel streak, and so did Teddy. She loved her family, truly she did, but all her life she’d felt an urge to mutiny, if only she could do it without hurting anyone else.
Her cell phone rang, and she jumped. She’d forgotten she had it in her pocket. She answered and heard Coop’s voice.
“Hey, you. Where are you?” His lazy voice was full of laughter.
“Oh, Coop. Gosh, what time is it? I’m out at the end of our driveway.” In the background, she heard a woman’s voice. “Where are you?”
“In your living room. Having a drink with Mee. I walked over on the beach. We decided it would be fun to drive to the theater in your family’s old Chrysler convertible.” When she didn’t respond immediately, he prompted. “Remember?”
“Oh, Coop!” Charlotte hit herself in the forehead. “I didn’t really forget, it’s just that Teddy had an accident—”
“I’ve been hearing all about it.”
“Well, he smashed up my farm-stand table, and I need to get it cleared out and find a new table to use. I’m sure we have one somewhere in the house, probably in the attic—”
“Look, forget about that for now. We should be leaving any moment. I hate being late for the theater. It’s just rude.”
“Oh, Coop.” Charlotte paced around the wrecked Jeep as she talked. “Coop, I can’t go. I’ve got to get this mess cleaned up before tomorrow morning.”
“But hey, come on, I bought tickets! And there’s the benefit party afterward. You don’t want to miss that. It only happens once a year.”
“I know, I know, it will be great, but Coop—”
“Look, Teddy made the mess, let Teddy clean it up.”
Charlotte snorted. “Right, because Teddy is so responsible.”
“Come on, Char,” Coop urged, his voice silky, “take an evening off. Everything will get done sooner or later, and who is it really going to hurt if a few people have to wait until nine instead of eight to get their lettuce?” He laughed. “You need to put things in perspective.”
Charlotte hesitated. She wanted to remind him that her customers were flighty, fickle. If what they expected wasn’t there when they had made the effort to drive out into the country, they would be miffed and simply go somewhere else. She needed to build a reputation of reliability. She didn’t want any of them to see this jumble of wrecked wood and steel where her charming farm stand, portraying serenity and health, should be.
“Coop—”
In the background, she heard a woman speaking. Perhaps her mother, offering to help find a new table?
“Listen,” Coop said, his voice still easy and light, “Mee just said she’d go to the theater with me. This way I won’t waste the tickets and you can stay here and do whatever you need to do.”
Charlotte found herself looking at her cell phone, as if it had suddenly zapped her into an alternate universe.
Suddenly Mee’s voice was on the phone. “You won’t mind, will you, Charlotte? Coop can take me to the party, and maybe I’ll meet some nice eligible bachelors!”
Charlotte understood the tacit message: I’m not trying to steal your man. “No, Mee, I don’t mind. Have fun.”
Coop’s voice came on again. “Good luck with your stand.” He clicked off.
“I phoned the tow truck!” Teddy came sauntering down the drive, waving at her. “They’re on their way.”
Charlotte gawked at him. She was exhausted and hungry and thirsty and confused and angry, she felt rumpled and grimy and overheated and rejected, and there Teddy was, ambling along with his good looks and his easy innocent smile. For that moment, she pure and simply hated him.
“Teddy,” she said, and she was on the verge of tears, “Teddy, you drove drunk.”
“Maybe I wasn’t so very drunk.” Teddy continued to smile as he leaned on the Jeep. “Maybe it was a Freudian thing, like most of the things in our family. Sort of semi-on-purpose. Maybe I resent the fact that you’ve stolen Suzette from me and made her part of your world.”
“Stolen Suzette?” Charlotte threw her hands out in exasperation. “No, Teddy, I’m not buying that at all. You’ve seen way too many psychiatrists, and you’ve learned how to warp their theories to suit your transgressions. You were drunk. Just drunk. Admit it.”
Teddy shrugged, and his smile faded. “I’ll admit it. But I have to say there is something about this family that would drive a saint to drink.”
Just then they heard the familiar rattling of the old Chrysler convertible as it came along the drive. The top was down, Coop was at the wheel, Mee in the passenger seat, a scarf around her hair and a gigantic smile on her face.
She leaned out over the door. “Aren’t we just the most glamorous people in the universe?” She blew Charlotte a kiss.
Charlotte laughed and blew a kiss back. It was wonderful seeing her cousin so ebullient and animated.
“I thought you were dating Coop,” Teddy said.
“I am.” Charlotte glared at her brother. “I was going to the theater with him tonight, but instead I have to clean up your mess.”
“Then why isn’t Coop out here helping you?”
“Why should he be? He has tickets. There’s a gala afterward. I’m glad Mee’s going with him.”
“Yeah, right.” Teddy snorted.
Before Charlotte could retort, the tow truck came roaring down the road. Two burly men jumped out, s
urveyed the wreck, pronounced it not so bad, hooked the Jeep’s bumper to a chain, and rumbled off with the Jeep bouncing along behind. Teddy helped Charlotte lift the broken bits of table away from the tree. They hauled them back to the barn, stashing them next to the half cord of winter wood. They searched Nona’s house and found an old card table that could be used until something better was found. Charlotte preferred a long rectangular shape to a square one, but this would suffice. Teddy helped her lug it out to the road, where they leaned it against a tree in preparation for morning.
As they worked, Teddy sobered up, and his silly, lighthearted mood changed. Charlotte could sense the dark mood sinking into him like a stain.
“Hey, Teddy,” she said, as they walked back to the house. Light was leaving the sky. Birds were calling good night. Even the breeze had settled down. “It’s no tragedy, losing that table, you know. And for what it’s worth, I’m sure you wouldn’t have steered into it if someone had been there, Suzette or me.”
Teddy nodded. “Thanks, sis. I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. I mean, I have been jealous of how close you are to Suzette.”
“Then you should have talked to me about it. I could have reassured you. I mean, I like her, and we talk about the garden and girly stuff and baby stuff, but Teddy, Teddy—you’re her guy. She adores you. The rest of us are just trying to make her feel at home.”
“I don’t want her to feel at home, not here. I hate the way we are, we’re like a herd of lemmings crawling all over each other.” He sighed deeply. “Well, I love Nona, I do. And I love you, Char.”
“I know that.”
“Oh, well, I guess I love everyone, but I just feel claustrophobic in this family. Everyone’s pressuring me to be something I’m not. I’m so busy trying to escape I can’t figure out where I want to go.”
Summer Beach Reads Page 113
