by Ames Sheldon
He interrupts, “I’m still reeling from the news that my father isn’t your real father.”
“I consider George my real father—I’ve never known any other. He and Mother raised me.”
“Tell me more about Henri.” Watching Harry intently, he picks up his pickle.
“I don’t know much. He was a Frenchman, a surgeon Mother met on the front during the Great War when she was driving that ambulance for the Red Cross.”
Nat replies, “I knew she’d been in the war, but I had no idea she’d married Henri until that horrible night we found out Eddie had enlisted. Mother was so upset about Eddie going to war that she drank too much, and then her secrets about being in France and having a husband before Father came blasting out.”
Harry says, “I know. I couldn’t believe it when she threw her glass at Father!”
“Why did Mother keep all those secrets?”
Returning her sandwich to the plate, Harry replies, “Father didn’t want her talking about anything that happened when she was in France. I think he was ashamed that he hadn’t been over there fighting himself.”
“That’s probably true,” Nat says. “Once when I asked Father about his contribution to the Second World War, he got all huffy about running a company that was essential to the war effort. Then I asked what he did in the Great War since he was at Yale when the US got into it. He told me he had to stay home to run Sutton Chemical but he always had regrets.”
Harry takes another sip of her beer. “Mother and Henri fell madly in love, and they got married. Not long afterward, Henri was killed right in front of her. She tried to save him, but he was too badly wounded. She came back to the States right after he died.”
“How long were they married?”
“I don’t really know. A few months?”
“His death must have been horrible for Mother.”
“How about coming home pregnant, with no husband to help establish a home and pay the bills? That had to have been terrifying.”
“Then she found Father,” Nat says, absently rubbing the hearts and initials carved into the table.
“She already knew George. He was a childhood friend of her college roommate.”
“What roommate?”
“Janice Finch. She married a man from Tennessee. I don’t think Mother has seen much of her since college.” Harry finishes the last bite of her sandwich.
“Does my father know that Henri’s your real father? Does Abba know?”
Harry replies, “Father must know, and I assume Abba does too—she’s always treated me like a second-class citizen.”
“Really?” Nat feels embarrassed that he never noticed.
“Abba’s good to you.”
Hoping to make Harry feel a little better about the way Abba treated her, he explains, “Well, we do have a common interest in music.”
“You know what’s heartbreaking? Mother blames George for Eddie’s death because he encouraged Eddie to enlist, although she blames herself as well. She thinks that if she hadn’t kept those secrets, if she’d described the horrors of the war she experienced, maybe Eddie wouldn’t have thrown himself into the line of fire.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mother told me.”
“Why would she tell you that but not me?” He believes he’s closer to their Mother than Harry and Eddie. At least he used to be.
“We were talking one time when she was really low. I told her it was not her fault, though I’m not sure I got through to her.”
“Why wouldn’t she tell me?” He shuts his eyes for a moment.
“Once the truth about Henri came out and you were away at school, Mother and I talked about all sorts of things we’d never discussed before.”
Wanting to reestablish his own credentials in their family, he says, “Eddie had his own reasons for enlisting in the Army. He felt it would help him when he went into politics.”
“I miss Eddie,” she says, putting her arms around herself. “When I need a break, I work on one of the jigsaw puzzles we made together and think about him.”
“I think about him too. The summer of ’44 I tried to make up for his not being there on the farm, but I couldn’t.”
“I know.” She sighs deeply. Then she shakes her head and stands. “Let’s go get you some new trousers. Do you have any money?”
“Of course. I’m earning my own dough now.”
Later that afternoon, Harry and Nat lounge in Mrs. Schmitt’s front parlor, which is separated from the dining room by a plaid curtain that hangs between the two rooms, containing the heat in each space. Doilies cover the arms and backs of every stuffed chair. Pewter beer mugs stand in rows on a shelf attached to the wall.
She says, “Want to work on a jigsaw puzzle with me? I’ve got one with a picture of our barn.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure? It’s really fun.”
“I don’t have the patience, Harry.” He feels annoyed that she doesn’t believe what he says. “Sorry, I’m not Eddie.”
She folds her arms over her stomach.
He stretches his legs out in front of him on the rag rug patterned with stiff–looking flowers. “What do you hear from home?”
“Father writes that he’s been hiring new staff to work at the company because orders are way up, and Mother is organizing a special dinner to raise funds for the Red Cross. Frank says they’re swamped with all the babies being born at his hospital. I guess that’s not surprising when you think about all the soldiers returning home from the war over the past eighteen months. Frank has never seen anything like it.”
“Hmm,” says Nat. He doesn’t think Frank is good enough for Harry.
“I’m thinking about sending Father a formal letter of application to work at Sutton Chemical.”
“Why would you do that?”
“To let him know that I’m serious about wanting to work for the company.”
“I could never work for Father.”
“Do you hate him, Nat?”
“Not the way I did a few months ago.”
“What do you think you want to do with your life now?”
“I don’t know—stop asking me stuff like that!”
She inhales audibly, then sighs. “What would you like to do this evening?”
“Is there someplace we can hear jazz?”
“Let’s look in the newspaper.”
All they can find are advertisements for dance bands led by musicians they’ve never heard of.
“Nuts,” says Nat. “I was hoping we could hear a good band tonight. At least I’ve found a place where they play jazz in Minneapolis.”
“You know those times you went to hear music on Fifty-Second Street in New York with your friend Mark? I’ve always wanted to ask you: is Mark a homosexual? Not that I have anything against homosexuals. I was just wondering. When he was at the house tutoring you, he never seemed the least bit interested in talking to me.”
Although Nat has mixed feelings about his former tutor, he feels protective of Mark. Besides, her questions are starting to irk him. “That’s none of your business!”
Speaking softly, Harry asks, “Are you attracted to men, Nat?”
“No!” Now he’s really offended.
“Are you sure?”
“I first knew I’m attracted to women that time during the war when you had me feel how smooth your leg was after you pulled on your last pair of silk stockings. I had to run out of the room. I could hardly contain Mr. Snake.”
“Who?”
“My …” He gestures toward his crotch.
“You have a name for it?” She smiles tentatively.
“Him.”
She gives him a playful push. “You certainly had eyes for every girl on campus this morning.”
Nat likes it when Harry teases him. “I guess Mark is a homosexual, but we’ve never actually talked about that. I know my old roommate from Andover is homosexual—he’s also my best friend.”
&
nbsp; “Isn’t it tricky being good friends with a man who might want more from you? How do you handle that?”
“The same way you would handle an unwelcome advance from any guy.”
She guffaws. “Right. How did you get to be so smart?”
“I’m not smart. Ask Father.”
She doesn’t respond to that. “Let’s go see a movie. That way I’ll have something to write Frank about.”
“You met Frank at the movies, didn’t you?”
“That’s right—at the Palisades Movie Theater. We laughed at the same things. I don’t suppose our paths would ever have crossed otherwise.” She picks up the Capital Times and turns to the back pages. “The Lady in the Lake is showing tonight. It’s based on a Raymond Chandler novel. Robert Montgomery and Audrey Totter are the stars.”
“That should be entertaining. Do you have any chocolate left?”
“Of course. I only eat one or two pieces a day—I want it to last.”
“May I have one?”
Sunday morning Nat and Harry skim the newspaper while they sit in the dining room over coffee and toast. He spots a headline declaring that a nationwide strike by the telephone workers will start tomorrow. This won’t bother him personally, but how are people supposed to report fires if the phones don’t work?
She says, “According to this, representatives of France, Britain, and the United States are proposing to give all the Saar’s coal to France if the French agree to economic unity in Germany with the United States and Britain. What’s ‘the Saar’s’ coal?”
“I think Saarland is in western Germany. This is probably a move to form a more united front against Russia. They’ve been awfully tough to deal with since the war ended. Father sent me some articles from the New York Times that were pretty scary.”
“You’ve been corresponding with him?”
“Not exactly. He just forwards clippings to me.”
“That’s something.” She stands. “Would you mind if I put a record on?”
“Please do.”
When the opening chords of Bach’s St. Matthew Passion fill the room, she sits in the chair next to him. After a few minutes, as tears begin to stream down his face, he looks over and sees that Harry’s face is wet too. He reaches for her hand. She squeezes back.
After the piece concludes, he says, “I’m so glad you played that, Harry. I love Bach!”
“So do I!” They grin at each other. Then she checks her watch. “We should get going now. Our lunch reservations are for noon.”
Up in Harry’s room, they remove their shirts and trousers. Once they’re standing in their underwear, backs to each other, he picks up a towel and flicks it at her bum a few times.
“What?” Grabbing her dress and holding it against her front, she turns around.
“Eddie used to do that to me. We’d play with towels or else we’d shove each other around, but it doesn’t seem right to shove you.”
“I’m not Eddie. This must be something guys like to do.”
He’d hoped she would want to play.
She turns away again and drops a flowered dress over her head. After buttoning it up the back, she says, “I chose the best German restaurant I could find for dinner today—German seems appropriate for Easter in Wisconsin. The Hasenpfeffer is supposed to be very good at Heidelberg Hofbrau on the Square.” Then she picks up his towel and flicks it in his direction.
“Here, let me show you. You need to snap the towel quickly. It’s all in the wrist.” He demonstrates.
She says, “Let me try again.” She does so.
“That’s better.”
A little later, as they walk down State Street toward the restaurant, she asks, “How do you feel about being in Northfield now?”
“I’m not as furious as I was. Working with my hands hasn’t been a bad thing for me, though I don’t want it to continue much longer. I have lots of time to think while I sweep the mill day in and day out, which is kind of nice. And I definitely like earning my own money.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Nat.”
“How about you, Harry?”
“I can’t tell whether Father’s pleased by what I’m doing or not. Maybe it doesn’t matter so much what he thinks as long as I’m convinced I’m doing the right thing.”
“Makes sense to me.”
Walking into Heidelberg Hofbrau on the Square, Nat can hardly see where he’s going. The lights are low, reflecting only slightly off dark oak walls. Deep burgundy fabric covers the tables, and the closed curtains are the same color.
He says, “This is swell.”
“My friend Judy told me about this place. It looks like it’ll be good.”
A waitress wearing a burgundy dirndl leads them to a small table in the corner. The menu is in German; a translation appears beneath each item.
She orders the Hasenpfeffer and he the Veal Geschnitzeltes with spaetzle. The waitress departs.
He says, “She’s got nice big bosoms.”
“Nat!”
“Sorry. I can’t help it.” He thinks any guy would agree with him. Well, maybe not Peter.
Leaning forward, she says, “Mother and Father are coming out for my graduation in May. Why don’t you join us? If we’re all here together when the focus isn’t on you, it might be easier for you and Father to put your differences aside.”
“I’ll think about it.”
After lunch they’re so full of rich food they decide they need to take a long walk. They change out of their dressy clothes and head out along the lakeshore path to Picnic Point, where they sit on a bench.
“What’s next, Nat? You seem to be saying that you don’t want to work at the mill much longer. What do you want to do?” Her legs are crossed, and she’s shaking her foot back and forth.
“I don’t know. I have to make money. I’d like to get a job working in Minneapolis, but I don’t know anyone who would hire me. Maybe I can teach music somewhere.”
She lifts her chin. “I really don’t think music school is the answer for you right now, Nat. You should finish college before you do anything else.”
Despite the fact that he has already figured this out for himself, he explodes. “Don’t tell me what to do! You’re always telling me what to do.” He knows he’s being unfair.
Her foot moves faster and faster. “Who else is going to discuss this with you? You’ve got to take charge of your own life.”
“Why are you so impatient with me?”
“I don’t want to have to worry about you.”
“Then don’t!” He stands abruptly. “I came here looking for comfort, not the third degree.” He starts walking back.
“Nat, stop! I’m just trying to help.”
He keeps walking.
“How can I help?” She hurries after him. “Wait! I have an idea. I’ll talk to the head of the music department here at Madison. He must know people in the music business in Minneapolis.”
June 1947
Harriet has been home from Madison for ten days. Saturday morning at the breakfast table, her father asks her to come to his study right after they finish eating.
Her stomach clenches. Is he finally going to talk to her about working for him at Sutton Chemical? It’s what she’s wanted ever since she realized Eddie wouldn’t be able to follow in George’s footsteps.
Once they’re seated, George says, “Your mother tells me you’ve had a job offer from the Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research.”
“I had an interview there earlier this week,” she replies. “I was very impressed by all the PhDs and MDs I met. They’re doing great research on antibacterials and they’re developing all sorts of vaccines.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going there?”
“I didn’t want you to feel like I was pressuring you, Father.”
“How much would they pay you?”
“The starting salary is $300 a month.”
“I’ll pay $400 per month if you come work for me.”
> “Really?” She jumps to her feet.
“At your graduation, I was impressed by what Dr. McCann had to say about your research, and I must say I’m glad you graduated with honors.”
“Father, this is fabulous!”
He rises to face her. “I would like you to join me in the company my father created. I’ll have you learn every facet of the business.”
“This is what I’ve wanted for years! It’s why I went to Madison in the first place. Yes! I accept your offer.”
“What did you say to the Rockefeller Institute?”
“I told them I’d think about it—I would take their offer if I couldn’t work for you.”
“I see. How soon do you want to start?”
“Right away.”
“Let’s say a week from Monday. I need to talk with the guy you’ll be reporting to, and there’s paperwork we’ll need to get going.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Why isn’t she happier? If only her father had made the offer as soon as she got home from Madison. The Rockefeller Institute must have roused his competitive spirit.
“Nervous?” George glances over at Harriet as he drives his new Lincoln in to Sutton Chemical.
“I’m excited!”
He smiles at her.
Practically vibrating with anticipation, she can’t wait to show her father he was right to hire her.
As they drive through the main gate to the facility, she exclaims, “It’s so big! I had no idea. Why didn’t you ever bring me here before? Eddie and Nat got to see the place years ago.”
“I didn’t think a girl would be interested.”
She resists pointing out that he was obviously wrong about that.
After he shows her around the plant, he escorts her down a long hallway to the executive suite.
He stops in front of an open door. A small sign on the wall reads, DR. VERNON BRYNE, EXECUTIVE VICE PRESIDENT. “This is the man you’ll be reporting to.”
Dr. Bryne quickly stands up, though he stays behind his desk. He opens his mouth, exposing buckteeth in what must be his idea of a greeting.
George steps into Dr. Bryne’s room. She follows.
