by Ames Sheldon
“Never mind. I’ll start again. This time I’ll put my experiment in the incubator.”
Harriet and her mother make plans for the wedding, a simple outdoor ceremony that will be held at their home on the farm. The date has been set for late August after Nat’s summer school classes at the University of Minnesota end, before the regular academic year starts. As they sit together at Eleanor’s desk in the parlor one evening, the women study their lists while Beethoven’s Pastorale Symphony plays on the radio. They’re both drinking Manhattans.
After taking a swallow, Eleanor says, “It’s so nice to think about something positive for a change!”
Her mother looks old. Her red hair has faded to a sort of strawberry blonde, and though she’s smiling now, the strong lines around her mouth suggest a frequent frown. Harriet puts her hand on her mother’s arm. “I’m grateful for your help, Mother.”
“I’m happy to do what I can. With your job, you don’t have time for all the phone calls and appointments we need to make with the stationer, the florist, the caterer, and so on.”
“I couldn’t do this without you.” She’s happy that her mother is taking responsibility for all the tedious details.
Eleanor says, “I believe four bridesmaids and four groomsmen would be about right.”
“That’s more than I want. I’m serious about keeping this wedding as simple as possible. I’m thinking about cousin Susan and Ron’s sister, Dottie, for bridesmaids.”
“Who’s your maid of honor?”
“I haven’t asked anyone yet. I’d like it to be my friend Sarah from college, but she’s married and living in Oklahoma now, and I know she’s been trying to get pregnant. I’m not sure what to do about her.”
“If not Sarah, how about Susan?”
“Good idea. It’d be nice to have my cousin in that role.” Harriet takes a sip from her drink, then gets up and goes over to the ice bucket. She adds a couple of cubes to her glass.
“We should start drawing up the invitation list so we have an idea of the numbers. Your father will have friends and colleagues and customers he’ll want to invite, and I’m sure the Wrights have people they’ll wish to include.”
Harriet sits again. “I’m not ready to think about the invitation list yet.”
“Tomorrow, then? I’ve got to start on my calls.”
“All right—tomorrow.” After taking a big sip of her Manhattan for courage, she says, “Mother, I know now what you were talking about when you told me how much you loved the way Henri smelled. It’s that way for me with Ron. He smells so yummy, and the way he touches me feels so good I could almost jump out of my skin.”
“I’m glad you’re strongly attracted to each other.”
“Mummy, do feelings like these last a lifetime?”
“Your father and I weren’t together long enough for our desire to diminish, but I don’t believe that hunger you’re talking about goes on forever. Once you have children, they soak up a lot of your energy.”
“Then I guess we’d better enjoy every minute while we’ve got these feelings.”
“Marriage can be challenging. It hasn’t always been easy with George. You just have to stick with it during the tough times.”
“Of course.”
Looking down, Eleanor says, “I’m going to miss you terribly when you don’t live here with us any longer.”
“I’ll miss you too, Mother, but I won’t be far away.” Harriet notices tears standing in her mother’s eyes. “Now, tell me how your economics class is going. Do you like it?”
“I thought this class would enable me to have intelligent discussions with George about the business, but the truth is, it bores me to tears. The concepts are so theoretical, and none of it pertains to anything I really care about.”
“How about something to do with biology?”
Her mother shakes her head. “I’m not going to embark on a career in medicine. I don’t know what I want to pursue. I’ve been casting about for something that will really grab me.”
Harriet can’t imagine not knowing what she wants to do.
Her mother goes on. “I might try a course in psychology.”
Harriet is dealing with a variety of variables as she experiments with her fungicide solution—the combination and concentrations of the chemicals, the quantities of wax and oil and water are all factors to test. Ever since her first batch of fruit disappeared, she has kept her apples and oranges in the incubator next to her desk—that way she can control the temperature, the humidity, and the amount of fresh air to circulate through the incubator so the CO2 and other gases don’t have a negative impact on her experiment. From time to time she uses the microscope to look for mold that could be growing on her fruit. Every day she makes meticulous notes.
One morning three weeks later, her apples and oranges are no longer sitting in the incubator. She can scarcely believe it. Who would do this to her? She looks around to her fellow chemists and then over at the technicians at their bench. They’re all intent on their own work.
Telling herself to calm down, she goes to Dr. Gallagher’s office.
“Would it be possible to put a lock on the incubator I’m using for my fungicide experiments?”
He replies, “I’m sure that could be done, but why would you want to lock it?”
“I just don’t want anyone but me to be able to open the door and compromise the environment I need to control.”
“I’ll put in an order with maintenance. It might take a couple of days.”
“Thank you, Dr. Gallagher.”
The next morning she makes up a fresh batch of fungicide, sprays a new set of apples and oranges, and places them in the incubator. Then she sets a trap, leaving a long strand of hair across the top of the handle on the door to the incubator. The next morning the hair is gone and so is her fruit.
She is so angry she can hardly see. Going around the bench to Mark, she asks, “Will you eat with me today, just the two of us? I want to talk with you about something.” Her gut says she can trust him.
“I’d be happy to, Harriet.”
After they go through the line in the company cafeteria, she heads for a corner table with her tray. Mark sits down across from her.
“Is something wrong?”
“You remember when you helped me look for my missing apples and oranges? It happened again. I think someone is trying to sabotage my work.”
His face grows redder than usual. “That’s horrible.”
“Do you have any idea who it could be?” Ever since she overheard Mark talking with Dr. Gallagher about Dr. Bryne’s interest in their lab, her suspicions have focused on Bryne.
“I’ve seen Dr. Bryne in the lab during off hours lately.”
Her hands clench into fists. “I bet Dr. Bryne’s the culprit. He’s had it in for me from the start.” She’s starting to despise him.
“Why would he have it in for you? You’re a very reasonable person, Harriet.”
“I’m the boss’s daughter—I assume that’s why.” She considers how she might catch Bryne in the act, but that would require her to stay after work and make up some excuse to her father about why she wouldn’t ride home with him. She’d rather not involve her father; she wants to solve her own problems. Taking a deep breath and then exhaling, she says, “I’m going to have to talk to Dr. Bryne.”
“You should tell Dr. Gallagher. Let him handle it.”
She shakes her head. “I think I should do this myself.” She eats her salad while Mark tucks into his casserole. “I’ll tackle Dr. Bryne on Monday. Maybe by then I’ll be able to keep my temper.”
Harriet is not looking forward to the bridal shower that Ron’s mother Betty is hosting for her. She knows she’ll feel awkward having to ooh and ahh over presents from people she’s never met. Fortunately she’s attending the shower with her mother, her grandmother Abba, and her Aunt Edith. A couple of her mother’s friends will be there too, and she knows Ron’s sister, Dottie, who’s a very quiet
, sweet girl.
When Harriet arrives, Betty rushes over to her, shouting, “The bride is here!” She grabs her hand and pulls Harriet into the living room, where six other women are seated in a large circle.
She mumbles, “I’m not a bride yet.”
“Nonsense,” says Betty. “You’re a bride until your first anniversary, and as far as Ronnie’s concerned, you’ll always be his bride. Now take this chair here.”
Once everyone is seated, a maid comes around offering glasses of gin and tonic on a tray.
At the center of the room Betty stands in her flowered chintz dress with the rounded shoulders. “Isn’t this a lovely morning? I am so pleased you all could join me here today in celebrating my soon-to-be daughter-in-law Harriet Sutton.” She gestures toward Harriet, who rises to her feet.
“Thank you, Mrs. Wright.”
Betty announces, “We’ll chat for a while and then move onto the porch for lunch and the opening of our gifts for Harriet and Ron.” She takes the empty chair next to Abba.
Harriet resumes her seat between Eleanor and Dottie. She’s glad to be wearing the pretty silk dress her mother bought for her at Lord & Taylor last week. Everyone’s summer frocks look brand new. Across the circle from her, Abba’s in an ornate violet gown that’s fit for royalty. Harriet’s proud of how spiffy her mother looks too; she knows Eleanor had her hair done at the beauty parlor this morning.
The maid returns with hot cheese puffs.
Harriet turns to Dottie. “Do you know most of the ladies here?”
“Not at all,” Dottie says softly.
Harriet thinks maybe Dottie is quiet because her mother is so noisy. “How did school go this year?”
“Fine.”
“You’re at the Country Day School, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
Nearby a woman Harriet hasn’t been introduced to says, “Did you read that story in the New Yorker about the Waldorf’s having to get a huge Zionist flag made in just fifty-two hours because the president of the new state of Israel, Chaim Weizmann, was coming to stay there? It had to be twelve by twenty feet!”
Another woman tells the person on her right, “My daughter Gloria just bought one of those new Bikini bathing suits. They’re named after the Bikini Atoll.”
“Where’s that?”
“In the South Pacific. It’s the test site for our nuclear weapons.”
Betty calls, “Harriet, tell everyone about the china and silver and crystal you and Ron have selected.”
“Our china is Spode and the silver pattern is very simple …” Floundering, she looks to her mother.
“It’s Reed & Barton.”
“I want to hear about your wedding gown,” Abba says. “Will you wear your mother’s or buy something of your own?”
Harriet has no idea what Eleanor wore when she married George; she guesses this is a dig at her mother.
Eleanor replies, “Harriet and I plan to shop for her wedding dress next week.”
“You’re leaving it till then? I would have thought that would be the first thing you’d do once Harriet and Ron announced their engagement.”
“We have plenty of time,” Eleanor tells her mother-in-law. “Harriet insists on a simple cotton dress, though George would prefer her to wear something fancier.”
“What about the men?” asks Abba.
“They’ll wear blue-and-white seersucker suits.”
“Seersucker? That’s hardly appropriate, if you ask me.”
It had never occurred to Harriet that they should have consulted Abba.
“It will be most appropriate for a simple summer wedding held outdoors,” Eleanor states. “It’s likely to be as hot as Hades in August.”
“Humph.” Abba turns to her neighbor and whispers something.
Suddenly it dawns on Harriet that her grandmother and her mother don’t really like each other, and the realization makes her feel closer to her mother. Abba has never been particularly warm to Harriet, and she’s pretty sure she knows why.
Betty moves everyone onto the three-season porch, where tables have been set up. Again Harriet sits between her mother and Dottie and doesn’t say much other than “please pass the butter” as she eats crab salad, fruit, and hot rolls. Conversations about clothing, home decorating, and trips to distant places swirl around her. When the women move back into the living room, Betty directs Harriet to the chair next to a table that’s been stacked with presents. She takes a deep breath.
Betty says, “I asked everyone to bring a favorite recipe too.”
“That’s a great idea,” Harriet replies. “I want to learn how to cook. Your recipes will give me a head start.”
“Rosalee does most of our cooking,” Eleanor explains.
“As a chemist, I trust I won’t find cooking too difficult.” Harriet smiles gamely at the group.
Betty hands her a package. She pulls off a recipe entitled “Grapes in Sour Cream.” She can’t imagine ever preparing a dish involving grapes and sour cream, but she keeps her smile pasted on. She does not enjoy being the center of attention like this.
“Thank you. This recipe sounds interesting.” The card is from Mrs. Eliot, and she’s not sure which of these women she is. Inside the box she finds a Pyrex casserole. “I’m sure I’ll use this. Thank you, Mrs. Eliot.” She looks around for the donor.
Mrs. Eliot turns out to be the woman who must have had a permanent very recently, for her hair is tightly curled against her head. “I use my casserole every week. Gordon loves my chicken divan—it’s the apricot preserves and French dressing that make it so tasty.”
Opening presents and saying thank you goes on interminably. Harriet’s cheeks hurt from smiling nonstop. She’s twenty-nine years old and has never been a girly girl—she feels like a complete fraud in this setting. When Betty hands her the last package, a copy of The Common Sense Book of Baby and Child Care by Dr. Benjamin Spock, the ladies titter. Harriet feels herself blush. Everyone seems to assume that once she has a baby, her working days will be over. That is not what she wants.
When Harriet, Eleanor, Abba, and Aunt Edith finally get into the car to drive home, Aunt Edith asks innocently, “Did you have a good time, Harriet?”
“It was very nice,” she responds politely. Actually she found the party excruciating. She hopes the wedding will be better than this.
First thing Monday morning, Harriet marches into Dr. Bryne’s office. She’s wearing her most severe suit and her reddest lipstick. He sits facing the door, his suit jacket on the back of his chair. She closes the door behind her, but she doesn’t take a seat.
“Someone is sabotaging my fungicide experiments.” She pauses, waiting for his response. When he doesn’t say anything, she moves forward.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Someone has been removing my apples and oranges from the incubator after I treat them.” She’s so furious her voice shakes. “Now, who do you think would want to undermine my work at Sutton?”
“Where’s your proof?”
She points at him. “I want you to know that I have a very good idea who’s responsible.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know!” She turns away. Grabbing the knob, she flings the door open and then slams it behind her. Let him worry that she might go to her father about this. Bryne doesn’t know she solves her own problems by herself.
Once she’s out of sight, she leans against the corridor wall, quaking. She has never exploded like this before. She just hopes she has managed to scare Bryne off.
A padlock is installed on the incubator, and Harriet’s the only one aside from Dr. Gallagher who knows the combination. Her apples and oranges stay put. All summer she refines the fungicide. Eventually she tries adding manganese sulfate to the dithiocarbamate, and the results excite her. After the apples and oranges sprayed with the newest concoction have been mold free for two weeks in the incubator, she takes one of each and
races out of the lab and down the hall to the executive suite.
The door to her father’s office is closed. She asks his secretary, “Is he in?”
“Yes, Miss Sutton.”
She knocks on his door.
“Enter.”
Nearly breathless, she says, “Father, I’ve found it! I’m pretty sure this latest solution will be a very effective fungicide.” She sits in front of him. “I’ve been experimenting with different salts to make the dithiocarbamate. Manganese—”
“Spare me the details, Harriet. You say it works?”
“It certainly preserves the fruit. We’ll need to test it for toxicity.”
“We’ll use an outside lab for that. I’m sure Dr. Gallagher has some names. Who knows about this?”
“I wanted to tell you first.”
“Once we’re sure this is our fungicide, I’ll want you to write down the formula and give it to me so I can keep it in the safe. Actually, why don’t you give me that information now—you’ll probably be off on your honeymoon by the time we hear back from the outside lab.”
“This is so exciting, Father!”
“Let’s not count our chickens quite yet.”
“I just have a really good feeling about this, Father.”
Then the big day is upon them. The wedding on August 21 passes in a breathless blur of images. Harriet sees herself standing in her white satin dress in front of the mirror in her bedroom, her mother at her side in a peach-colored frock and jaunty hat. Harriet refused to have anything to do with bows or ribbons or lace, so her gown is elegantly simple, tea-length, sleeveless, shimmery, and cut quite low in front. She’s shaking.
Next she’s aware of walking across the lawn down the improvised aisle defined by chairs on each side, her hand on George’s tense arm. He’s trembling, which catches her by surprise, but strangely his emotion calms her. While the string quartet plays Bach’s “Air on the G String,” she floats toward Ron, feeling lovely for the first time in her life. Ron, remarkably handsome in his seersucker suit and bowtie, beams at her from the front. Nat is grinning, standing next to Ron’s brother Mike and his buddy Mac. Susan, Dottie, and Judy, wearing different shades of the same cotton dress and straw hats with a band the same color as her dress, smile as she approaches. When she releases her father’s arm and turns to him, she thinks it must be the music that’s making his eyes glisten.
