Hannah, Divided

by Adele Griffin

  Apparently, however, Mrs. Sweet did not hear it that way.

  PART THREE

  24. A PHONE CALL

  BEVERLY HAD PACKED AND left by the end of the following week. Her “jiffy” plan, as she called it, was to lodge with Charlie’s sisters until she got her bearings. After that, Beverly said, the future might land her anywhere.

  “Anywhere there’s a piano, you mean?” Hannah asked that last afternoon as she flopped herself upon the stripped mattress in Beverly’s empty room. She felt as if she had asked the same question a hundred times before, but she could not bear to think of Beverly existing anyplace without a piano.

  “Stop fretting about me.” Beverly already sounded more adult than she had a week ago. “Oh, and I’ve got a farewell gift for you, Hannah. I’ve been meaning to pass it along.” She straightened and clasped her hands behind her back, professor-style. “It’s on my authority that during his life, Ludwig van Beethoven wrote a total of thirty-two sonatas. Not only that, but Johannes Bach’s thirty-two Goldberg Variations are among the best known of his works. How about that for your lucky number, thirty-two?”

  “Gosh, sometimes thirty-two seems more than lucky,” said Hannah wonderingly, “and closer to magical. Thanks, Bev.”

  “Oh, but that’s not my gift,” said Beverly. “This is—I stole some sheet music from the Academy. If you help me push my trunk out to the front hall for Charlie to pick up, I’ll play you Bach’s Aria and his first two Variations. What do you say?”

  Hannah was already dragging the trunk by its handles. “I’d say I’m all ears! This’ll be the first concert you’ve ever played for me, Beverly.”

  “Guess I never had the time to spare, before.”

  Once the luggage was stacked at the front door, Hannah ran into the parlor and sat cross-legged on the ottoman. Beverly took her usual place behind the piano.

  “Good-bye, Steinway, dear,” she said softly, rubbing the piano’s polished ebony surface. Then she spread her fingers over the keyboard and began.

  Hannah closed her eyes as the short elegant stacks of sound marched and melted through her head. Beverly’s mind must be full of counting patterns, too, Hannah thought. Except that Beverly’s patterns made a tune instead of a proof or equation.

  When Beverly finished, Hannah clapped and whistled through her teeth the way Joe had taught her. “Oh, Bev, I’m sure going to miss you. Who’ll sing along to Bing Crosby with me now?”

  “Joe might, for a nickel.” The corner of Beverly’s mouth tucked up, the first smile Hannah had seen from her all day.

  Even after Charlie rang the doorbell and Beverly was gone, Hannah could hear the echo of her music. Once the sound of the piano playing had given Hannah pangs of homesickness. Now, in the silence, Hannah missed Beverly instead.

  Before she left, Beverly had roasted a chicken and boiled some potatoes and parsnips for Hannah and Joe’s supper, but the next evening, with the kitchen dark and Mrs. Sweet nowhere in sight, there was another downside to Beverly’s absence. Hannah prepared no-fuss horseradish-and-ham sandwiches while Joe chopped a tomato salad.

  Midway through their meal, Joe lifted his head. “Sweet’s back.”

  Hannah strained to listen. “She sneaks in so quiet, you’d need the ears of a bat to hear her.”

  “She doesn’t want us to hear, otherwise she’d hafta stop in for a chat.” Joe rolled his eyes. “Even if we both the pass the exam, we’ll need another house to hang our hats come June,” he warned. “Mark my words.”

  Now Hannah could detect a ghostlike footstep in the upstairs hall.

  “Say, it’s Thanksgiving next week,” Joe remarked. “Are you spending it with friends?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve got too much work.”

  “Me, either,” said Joe with a wink. “Snobs.”

  “Snobs,” she agreed.

  From the hall, the telephone jangled. Neither of them looked in its direction. The telephone was always for Mrs. Sweet, and so it was all the more surprising when her voice resounded through the air vent.

  “Haaa-naaah,” she called. “You’re wanted on the telephone!”

  Joe raised his eyebrows.

  Hannah’s heart jounced. She jumped up and ran out of the kitchen to the hall phone and she picked up the heavy receiver. “Yes? Who is there?”

  “Hannah!” Ma’s voice sounded small but close, almost as if she were in the next room.

  “Ma! Is something wrong? Why are you at the Applebees’?”

  “No, I’m right here in the kitchen. Pa and I decided to install a telephone.”

  “Oh!” Hannah tried to picture her mother speaking into a telephone mouthpiece. It seemed too movie star-ish for Ma.

  “Folks change their milk orders last minute,” Ma explained, “and with you and Hepp gone, we ought to be in touch. You simply tell the operator to connect you to Chadds Ford, Bennett, number seventy-two.”

  “Seventy-two,” Hannah repeated. The number of inches in six feet. The number of days it took Nellie Bly to travel the world. Now, the telephone number. The future had poked in its nose and turned into the present.

  Over the line, Ma was skittering on in a breathless manner about how the telephone man had come to install the line and had run the cord wrong, before she abruptly interrupted herself. “But that’s not what I rang you up for, Hannah. I’m not sure how to say this without being able to see you, but I suppose there’s no other way.” Ma’s breath on the line was as loud as radio static.

  “What is it, Ma?”

  “The reason I called was to say that. To say that. That Pa and I hoped you might be able to free yourself to come home for a spell. Tomorrow.”

  “Is something the matter, Ma? Is the family well? Is there word from Hepp?”

  “Mrs. Bennett, Miss Bennett,” interrupted the switchboard operator. “You’ll have to get off the line. There’s a few callers wanting to get hold of Mrs. Sweet.”

  “Another moment, thank you,” said Ma. “Hannah, it’s your grandfather.”

  “What’s news of Granddad?” asked Hannah. Her fingers twisted the phone cord to keep herself from tapping. “Is he in trouble? Is he hurt?”

  “Hannah, Granddad McNaughton passed away last night. In his sleep, peacefully.” Now Ma was speaking quickly, as if she were in a train moving faster and faster away from Hannah. “You’ll need to hurry home for the funeral this Sunday. There’s a train that leaves the city tomorrow morning at eight sharp. Pa will pick you up at the station. Please ask Mrs. Sweet if we might borrow expenses for the ticket and send the reimbursement back with you. I’m sorry to give you this news. Hurry home, Hannah!”

  The line clicked as Ma hung up. Hannah was left staring into the receiver. Her mind whirled, though her feet seemed to be made of clay. No, no, it couldn’t be, she thought wildly. Impossible. Last night, when? Last night, when she was studying Mr. Cole’s worksheet about capacity in customary units? Or when she had been brushing her teeth, or arguing with Joe about who was the better baseball player, Dizzy Dean or his brother Daffy?

  Surely some part of her ought to have felt it—a confused, drowning rush of grief that she could mark in her head as the same moment her grandfather had departed.

  But last night had been so ordinary!

  The nagging voice of the operator finally pushed Hannah from her trance, reminding her that Mrs. Sweet’s call was being connected, and that she had better run and fetch her.

  25. HOME AGAIN

  PA KEPT HIS EYES ON the road as the truck rattled and looped along the familiar route. He had been the first person whom Hannah had spied when the train pulled in. Standing alone in his denim coveralls and brown field coat, he was instantly recognizable, and yet it seemed an eternity since Hannah had seen him last.

  She had been scared that Pa would look older, or different, but he did not. In fact, it was she who seemed to take him aback.

  “Sakes, you’re a sight, Hannah,” he said, reaching out to tug the snipped ends of her hair, then steppi
ng back to look her up and down. “Nothing but sunk eyes and bony legs. Don’t they feed you in Philadelphia?”

  She shook her head. “There’s too much on the table, if anything.”

  Pa’s forehead wrinkled, but he did not respond.

  They climbed into the truck and fell into silence. Hannah could not pluck up the nerve to ask any questions about Granddad. Pa and Granddad had shared a cantankerous relationship, further strained by the fact that Pa worked a property Granddad had partly and stubbornly owned. In her parents’ hearts, Hannah realized, Granddad’s passing must have come qualified with slight relief.

  “Will Hepp show for the funeral?” she asked instead.

  “Dunno. We sent word by telegram to Kansas City day before last, but heard nothing back. He must have cleared out beforehand.”

  Hannah caught the note of Pa’s irritation. It had never made sense to Pa that Hepp could drift in and out of touch with the family so easily.

  She stared out the window. Chadds Ford was dressed for winter. Cooled of color, stripped of blossom, with the sinking sun pulling the last bit of haze from the sky, it was not the prettiest time of season. Yet the familiarity of it set a lump in her throat.

  A midday dinner was ready when she and Pa walked through the kitchen door. Over the steaming pot roast, Ma appeared tired, but Roy whooped and squeezed Hannah, jumping her up and down until she thought she’d crack a lung. These months as an only child must have been lonesome for Roy, she figured.

  “Jeepers-creepers! You went and chopped your best feature into a haystack.” Roy tousled her hair once he released her. “And you look worn through.”

  “Hannah, you’ve been studying too hard,” reprimanded Ma.

  “No, I haven’t.” Her family’s concern baffled her. Pleased her, too. It was nice to be fussed over.

  During the meal, Ma heaped Hannah’s plate and kept an eye that she ate everything on it, and Roy even leaped up to fetch a glass of milk, while Pa made remarks about the dangerous effects of polluted city air. With all the attention foisted on her, it was not until the end of the meal that Hannah noticed.

  “But where’s Ben?”

  “He left a week ago. Day after he collected his paycheck,” said Pa.

  “Nobody even saw him leave,” Roy added. “He must have hopped a midnight train back to Ohio. Caught us all by surprise. Suppose he’d had enough of being away, and needed to get back home.” Roy hesitated, then said, “We kept thinking you’d do the same, Han.”

  “Me?” It had never crossed her mind to leave the city as long as Granddad kept watch over her progress there. After all, it was to him that she had sent her graded math tests and Mr. Cole’s weekly evaluation reports.

  Granddad was the reason I left Chadds Ford, thought Hannah as she helped Ma tidy the kitchen afterward. Now Granddad has left Chadds Ford, too. Where does that put me? The question circled, searching for an answer that lay outside her reach.

  Entering her bedroom later that evening was like reuniting with a childhood friend. Hannah tapped its corners and straightened and reordered her personal items; her faded, half-forgotten collection of Rudy Vallee press clippings, her stuffed calico horse. Though the night was too cold for it, she cracked open her window so that she could listen to the round echo of owl song.

  She changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed, relishing its familiar softness. She imagined Granddad sitting on his porch, impeccably dressed, alone but never lonely. Her eyes would not close as she whispered problems for him to solve.

  “If Granddad McNaughton smokes eight cigarettes and eats three fifteen-ounce servings of watermelon at four pennies an ounce …”

  She fell asleep with images of Granddad in her head and an ache in her heart.

  The next morning, Ma had to knock twice on Hannah’s door to rouse her for chores. She felt as if she were moving through glue. Throughout the milking and breakfast, she tried to smother her sadness, but more than once she caught Roy peering intently at her.

  As they walked together ahead of Ma and Pa the half mile to the church, Roy threw an arm around her shoulders. “Lean in, if you’d like,” he said. “Poor sis. You’re a walking advertisement for why I’d never live in a city.”

  The church was airless and crowded with familiar faces. Tru and Betsy burst from their pews to hug her, whispering promises to visit as soon as they could get away. It seemed as if the whole of Chadds Ford had come to pay respects to Granddad. As many people as could fill a Saturday matinee in Philadelphia, Hannah realized. The main difference being that she could recite every name in this entire congregation.

  So many kind smiles, so much concern as folks stopped by the Bennett pew to pass along a consoling word about Dr. McNaughton. The Arnolds, the Applebees, the Dilworths, the Winnickers, the Seals. Even Miss Cascade was present, wearing a new pair of spectacles, Wendell Nutley at her elbow. The closeness of Chadds Ford struck Hannah solemn and real as a church bell, holding her to all she had left behind.

  As Mrs. Lind struck up the organ, Hannah inclined slightly into Ma’s side. In other days, when she and Granddad had found themselves in the midst of crowds, they had invented percentage problems. Now Hannah tried to pick up the thread of the game. What percentage of people wore stripes, how many had mustaches, how many carried hymnals in their left hands versus right? Questions washed in and answers washed out.

  Reverend Kenyon’s voice rumbled from the pulpit as he spoke of Granddad, building up his smarts to make up for his general grouchiness. The memory of summertime on Granddad’s porch spread upward from Hannah’s feet, and her eyelids grew heavy as she imagined herself and Granddad sitting together, making wishes on watermelon seeds.

  “Hannah!” Ma hissed. “Hannah, wake up!”

  Hannah’s eyes snapped open as she caught her breath. Faces were turned toward her. What had she done?

  Reverend Kenyon was not speaking. He frowned down at Hannah and roughly cleared his throat.

  Roy leaned forward past Ma. “Sis! You were snoring!” he whispered.

  No! So disrespectful! How could she have done such a thing? Now Hannah sensed the amusement in the room, the collective smile that Hannah Bennett might have gone off to Philadelphia to fill her mind with math, but she was the same unpolished, unfinished Hannah as ever.

  Blushing, Hannah folded her hands and looked down at her lap, but she pinched the tops of her legs so that she would stay awake for the rest of the service. At least there were no Ottley girls present to poke fun.

  Reverend Kenyon cleared his throat once more and resumed.

  26. HEPP

  HANNAH MATCHED HER MOTHER’S long strides as they made their way home. Pa and Roy had stayed behind with some of the other men to help with the burial, and most of the congregation would be stopping by the house later for refreshments.

  “Well, it’s done, then,” said Ma. “Your granddad’s in heaven now, pestering the angels. Oh, I’ll miss him, though. He’d been failing a while, but naturally he refused to see a specialist. Doctors make terrible patients.” She shook her head, rueful. “He wouldn’t give up his smoking nor his chew, even with that cough. Said the tobacco refreshed his lungs, though I’m sure the effect was directly opposite.”

  Hannah agreed with a nod.

  “There’s things at the house Granddad wanted you to have. Books and such,” said Ma. “You’ll need to sort through.”

  Hannah nodded again. She listened to the crunch of their boots on the frost-hardened earth.

  When Ma spoke once more, it was as if the words had been mulling inside her. “You ought to know, Hannah, we’ve sold Granddad’s property to the Winnickers.”

  This time, Hannah could not be silent. “Why, how awful!” she blurted. “Elgin Winnicker living in Granddad’s house? But Elgin’s such a blasted chump, he can hardly tell the difference between a numerator and a denominator!”

  “Such language, Hannah!—and it can’t be helped. We need the cash money,” said Ma. “We’re going to use s
ome of it to build on to the dairy. Pa is hiring extra labor, and we want to buy a pasteurizer. Keep ourselves a step ahead.” She paused, then hurried on. “Which means to say that a lot is happening here. And you might want to think about returning home to help Pa and Roy and me. Home for keeps.” Ma’s voice softened. “Where you belong, where you’ll be healthy and watched over and lonely no more.”

  “I haven’t been lonely,” Hannah said stiffly. It was a struggle to lie to her mother. She had not mentioned her loneliness in any of her letters home. She did not want to confess to it now.

  “Oh, Hannah, it’s not hard to see that—”

  “Ahoy, there! Ma! Hannah!”

  At the sound of the voice, they both looked toward their house, which loomed on the horizon. Hannah could just make out the outline of a familiar figure standing on the front porch. At the same instant, they recognized him.

  “Why, you!” exclaimed Ma under her breath. “You!”

  Bunching their skirts, they sprinted the remaining distance. Ma, in a spurt of coltish energy, beat Hannah by a pace.

  Hepp, at last! Hannah hugged him hard once Ma let him go. Immediately, she saw the changes in her oldest brother. He was thinner, the bones of his cheeks and shoulders and collarbone whittled sharp, his hands felt callused in her own, and he sported a fibrous mustache redder than the auburn of his hair.

  “Just arrived. I had to walk from the station,” he told them. His smile turned solemn. “There’s not a body on the road. The whole town must be eulogizing. I’ll pay my private respects to Granddad tomorrow.”

  “Some of the congregation will be by here later,” said Ma. “So you can have a proper reunion with everyone in town.”