“I know,” Esther said. “I know you had to. That’s okay. We can manage.”
“She wouldn’t let me, though. Wouldn’t have it,” he told her. “I wish she would.”
“I wish she would, too,” said Esther understandingly. He needed expiation. He needed a kind of penalty. Esther felt this in herself.
Even to Esther, her charming yellow house and their whole comfortable way of life began to seem sinfully easy and luxurious.
So time passed but did not seem to heal. Tom was obsessed with his obligation to the widow of the man he had killed. He went to see her several times more. Esther would hear of it afterwards. She bore this silently.
One day, when spring was coming on, Tom said to her, “Honey, would you mind terribly if we had house guests for a few days?”
“Who?”
“Well, this is what I was thinking. I went over to see Audrey Caldwell this afternoon. She and her sister are going to have to move out of that apartment. It’s too steep for them now. But she—they are having a little trouble finding a place because of the wheel-chair and all. There has to be a ramp or no steps, and unless they are on a ground floor there would have to be an elevator. Well, it would save them dishing out another month’s rent there, if they had a place to stay while Audrey looks. And since it doesn’t matter to them where they locate …”
“Do you want them to come here?” asked Esther “Because if you do, that settles it.”
“You know how I feel. I’ve got to do whatever I can for them.”
“I know how you feel,” said Esther gravely.
“Well, then, I’ll ask them.” He hugged her gratefully. “It may be a darned nuisance, honey. But our house is all ground level, even the back terrace. They wouldn’t have to go down into the yard. And we do have the guest room and it would help them out.
“Then we’ll just do it,” said Esther bravely. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a nuisance.”
She thought to herself, and if it is a bit of a nuisance, that might do him good. And yet … she wondered. How could Audrey Caldwell accept this invitation? If she was too proud or sensitive or ladylike or whatever to accept money, surely she would also be too sensitive to come into the Gardners’ house.
But it seemed she wasn’t.
In the last week of April Tom went to fetch them while Esther waited at home in her polished rooms, with clean sheets on the guest-room beds, and a foreboding in her heart.
When they arrived, the crippled sister was wearing a brown print and looked ugly in it. Audrey Caldwell was slender and dainty and proper in unrelieved black. There was a great to-do about transferring Joan Pell from the car to her chair. The wheel-chair then came into the house easily over the level pavements, driveway to front terrace to front door. This was something to do and something to exclaim about. Then there was an inspection of the house, the guest room, the back terrace, the view over the sloping back garden to the hibiscus against the lower wall. Esther saw her house with a stranger’s eye. Space, strong colours, squashy chairs and places to put one’s feet up. It wasn’t Audrey Caldwell’s kind of house.
But Audrey Caldwell’s purple eyes looked up into hers. “Your home is lovely,” said she in her dove’s voice. “I can’t tell you how good you are to ask us here. May we call you Esther? Tom says so.”
“Of course, Audrey,” said Esther with a smile, although she already felt ten feet tall and overblown. “I only hope you will be comfortable.”
“Oh, we shall be,” promised Audrey sweetly.
At no time during dinner, during the evening, did Audrey mention her dead husband or the circumstances of his death. The implication in her total attitude was that she and Joan pertained to Tom. It was as if Esther, a bride, entertained old friends of his from another life. Perhaps this did make everything easier and smoother, Esther conceded. Perhaps the attitude was kind.
Tom said, in their bedroom, “They’ve got nice manners, don’t you think? Anyhow Audrey has. It’s not going to be so bad.”
He was looking at her with such hope that Esther said warmly, “It’s not bad at all.”
“They are so devoted. It’s kind of pitiful. I’m glad we asked them.”
“Yes, I am too.” Esther was glad. It had made him feel better.
The next morning, at the sunny April breakfast table, Audrey was wearing a different dress. It was black.
Esther saw Tom off to the office in the bright morning air, and she turned back into her house. The women were there. Esther asked cheerfully what she could do to help them. Audrey explained the kind of apartment she was looking for. Something modest. But clean. And perhaps quiet. There were certain things she had to have for Joan.
That day, the next day and the next, Audrey went house-hunting diligently. She did not drive. This meant an expense of time and energy on the inadequate bus lines or a succession of real estate brokers in their cars, with much waiting. Esther could not offer to drive her around in Esther’s little coupe, because somebody had to be with Joan.
Joan’s withered legs would not support her. She had had polio years ago. She could manoeuvre her chair very well with strong shoulders and arms, but there were things she could not do. She could not open doors. She could not prepare a meal. One could not leave her a simple sandwich. She was diabetic and certain foods were forbidden. She needed somebody there.
And Joan herself was there, in the house, all day, all night, and all the chinks of time between.
When the weekend came, it was Tom who drove Audrey around while Esther took care of Joan. Esther was never alone any more.
The yellow house was built with two back-swept wings and the guest room and bath angled out upon the terrace from the kitchen side. Therefore, at night, the guests were as far from their hosts as was possible. But Esther began to feel their presence, even when she lay abed. She could not even feel alone with Tom. She and he found themselves speaking to each other in lowered voices these days. They did not yell cheerfully across house and lot to each other any more. The tone of the whole establishment seemed to have become genteel and subdued.
Oh, well, they could stand it for a little while.
But days passed.
Audrey was obviously no great strong ox (like Esther) able to bear endless physical exertion. House-hunting was very tiring. She skipped it for a day, to rest.
Because this meant that Esther could get away, Esther did not protest, even silently. The house-hunting began to go slower, by fits and starts. Decent apartments were too expensive. The very cheap ones were somehow impossible. “I can’t take Joan into a slum,” Audrey said one day. The Gardners agreed. (But it was Audrey who could not be imagined in a slum.) Meantime, at the Gardners’ house, a new regime gently settled in
Audrey of course insisted upon trying to help with the house-work. She was endlessly sweet and willing, but her pace was slow. Esther was a whirlwind in the kitchen. It tired her to try to work in harness with the slower one. It not only tired her, it made her feel as if she were not fastidious enough, as if her methods must be slapdash because they were so quick. For her own comfort, Esther began to shoo Audrey away.
Therefore, it turned out to be Audrey who greeted Tom when he came home and Audrey who chatted in the living-room, before dinner, while Esther did the last-minute things—made the gravy, tossed the salad.
They would bend over a yellow pad full of figures, Tom explaining. He would explain, again and again, how much the widow could afford to pay in rent and why. Audrey would trustfully take his word, but the next night it would emerge that she had not quite understood. Esther, who had never had any trouble with arithmetic, tried once to make a joke of it. But Tom said, “Audrey’s never had to manage a budget before. Naturally, she gets confused.”
“I suppose,” Esther said, the impulse to tease and laugh knocked out of her.
Audrey never teased. She did not laugh. She would smile. She smiled often, with sympathy or kindness.
Of course she was in mourning,
ever wearing black.
There was also a little difficulty at eleven-thirty every day. Tom called Esther on the phone at this time just to be in touch, to ask about the mail. It was a habit of years. But Audrey began to answer the telephone. She was quite willing, of course, to call Esther.… Her air was helpfulness. She could never seem to get it into her head that the eleven-thirty call would always be for Esther. Or, indeed, all telephone calls.
“It’s so odd, they don’t have any friends calling up,” said Esther once.
“You know how people are,” said Tom. “They forget. Don’t take the trouble. Fair-weather friends.”
And Esther thought: He always defends her. Something in this world ought to turn out to be her fault. Maybe nobody likes her!
But she kept quiet. She didn’t like Audrey much. Yet there was nothing Audrey did that was not done sweetly and gently and with kindness.
Then, as the second week became the third week, a notion sprang into Esther’s head. Audrey Caldwell certainly had a great many black dresses, for she wore no other colour. Most of them must be new dresses. Esther tried to damp down this flare of suspicion, this pounce upon a flaw. But she could not help thinking that clothes cost money. Esther said nothing aloud. It would seem material-minded, petty and even mean to mention this.
Audrey was never mean.
But as the third week slipped by and Esther realized that everything about her own life was changing, if not actually disappearing, the little spark of resentment blew up into a steady flame. Esther no longer chose where she would be, or what she would do, or when. Audrey, small and slender, pale, speaking low, nevertheless exerted a tremendous pressure. She always spoke in that spirit of sweetness and self-sacrifice. But it demanded the same from Esther and Tom. She would say. “But what is your favourite TV at this hour? You mustn’t think of missing it. Of course, we have always liked the music an Channel 4. But that isn’t important.”
So they would listen to the music on Channel 4 because Esther and Tom could not insist that the cops-and-robbers series they enjoyed was important. Could they?
Tom seemed dedicated to being as well-mannered as Audrey was. He was getting to be a perfect gentleman.
Esther set herself to endure it.
Joan Pell was not like her sister. She was not “sweet.” Rather desperately, Esther tried to make a friend of her. Esther tried to be a little flip and irreverent. But Joan had no sense of humour whatever. And Joan was laconic and indifferent when she was alone in the house with Esther. She was always waiting for Audrey. In fact, the only topic that set her talking was Audrey. Audrey’s kindness. Audrey’s courage. Audrey’s sacrifice. Esther’s sacrifice Joan either did not notice or directly rejected. Joan could be a little surly. Joan had a way of not allowing Esther to do small things for her. Sometimes she would insist upon waiting for Audrey for so simple a thing as a glass of water, in such a way as to make Esther most uncomfortable. However, when Audrey was there, it often was Esther who fetched the water.
The two sisters had endless chats. Esther would hear their voices. Audrey’s, ever gentle and low, Joan’s slightly harsher and more staccato, going on and on. The house was full of the sound.
Esther herself began to be silent and rather glum. For all her prayerful resolutions, everything inside her was beginning to scream, “Get out! Get out!”
Esther was no eavesdropper, but sometimes, of course, she could not help hearing a few sentences. One morning, kneeling in the yard to put peat moss around her azaleas, she heard Joan’s voice over her head.
“Would you marry him?” Joan asked broodingly.
They were in the dinette. Esther heard Audrey answer primly, “I don’t expect to marry again, dear.”
“He is kind,” Joan said grudgingly. “Would you?”
“He is very kind. Of course, I like him very much. But Joan, dear—” Audrey was softly reproachful.
Joan broke in. “It is not that I don’t want you to marry. I do, if you do. It’s just that Courtney was such a mistake. And you let yourself in for unhappiness. You’re too patient and too forgiving.”
“Ah, but it’s best to be,” said Audrey.
“Things do happen for you,” said Joan bluntly in a moment. “Is that what you mean? I guess that’s right. Things work out. Like a miracle.”
“I told you …” said Audrey. Esther heard one of them give out a long sigh.
Then they were gone. Esther heard no more.
She frowned at the ground. First, she tried to believe that there was a suitor somewhere, although none had called, none had come. She tried to believe that this fragment had nothing to do with her.
But who was so kind? What man? Then she wondered what had happened for Audrey? What miracle? Esther blinked and swiped at her face with an earth-stained paw. Something had made her shiver.
One of the most difficult things for Esther to bear was the sound of Audrey’s voice in the living-room, after dinner, questioning Tom most gently, with sweet interest, about his work, while Esther did the dishes. Tom worked in Personnel. Esther, of course, had heard all he was saying long ago. It was Esther’s own decree that she did the dishes by herself. Tom enjoyed a new audience, naturally. Audrey was certainly kind and polite to be interested.… It was still difficult.
Esther did the dishes alone because she could do them like lightning, and the presence of Audrey at her shoulder with tea-towel in hand carried that unspoken accusation. When Audrey was there, drying, Esther could not feel that she was getting things clean. Audrey would have taken three times as long with one cup, one glass. But Esther knew that she did get the dishes clean, that speed was not necessarily sloppy. She ground her teeth and vowed that she would do her dishes, at least, in her own way.
After all, it did not take her long. And Joan, of course, was in there with Them.
When Esther realized that she had already begun to capitalize the pronoun in her mind, she knew she was plain jealous. How small of her to be jealous of this unfortunate woman whom she and Tom had hurt, to whom they surely owed as much good will as she heaped in coals of fire upon their heads.
Yet …
Thoughtfully, that evening, Esther dried her hands and went into the living-room. She sat down in her corner of the huge crimson couch, kicked off her shoes, and curled her feet up under her. She did this deliberately. Esther had been keeping her feet on the floor lately. Now Audrey sat, as ever she sat, with her slim ankles decorously crossed, and Tom’s big shoes, well shined, contained his feet. But everybody used to take his shoes off in the evening. It was an old California custom. Esther had so often watched Tom’s toes in his socks, wiggling with the surge of the argument. Why shouldn’t one take one’s shoes off, if one was at home?
Esther wiggled her toes, watching, wondering. How kind and good was it of Audrey Caldwell to forgive the Gardners and let them befriend her and take her in?
Courtney had been a mistake, Joan said. Courtney was gone. Was this how things had worked out? How bereaved was Audrey? How happy had Audrey been? How happy was she now? Audrey, in her black dress, let a smile curve her pink lips occasionally.
Tom seemed moderately happy when she smiled.
Would you marry him? Joan had asked. “Would you” implied as “if.” If what?
What are they going to do with me? thought Esther and felt her face flush.
“I’m sure that Esther thinks so, too,” said Audrey’s soft voice. “Now, don’t you, dear?”
“I’m sorry,” said Esther. “I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.…”
“Not many live up to that standard, Audrey,” Tom said and he was looking strained.
“What standard?” Esther came alert.
“I was only saying,” said Audrey with her head tilted, “one gets along better by being trusting and patient—” her purple eyes were dreamy—“by believing the best of people and by being kind.”
“It’s all right to be a saint,” said Joan. She looked fierce. “But a lot of people are goin
g to take advantage.”
“I think I agree with Joan,” said Esther slowly. “Some people will surely take advantage.…” There was a little clashing silence that stretched taut between Audrey and Esther.
“Ah, but it only hurts them,” Audrey said, piously.
“Anybody who wants to be kind to me at the moment,” said Tom with forced gaiety, “can get me a glass of milk.”
Audrey smiled and stirred. Esther was quicker. “I’ll get it, dear,” she said in a bright voice that sounded strange in her own ears.
In the kitchen she thought: But I’m not the saintly type, for heaven’s sakes. What am I doing? Competing with her? Six weeks ago I’d have said, “Help yourself, big boy, and bring me one, while you’re up.” And Tom would have said, “You lazy pig. I hope you get fat!” And he’d have yelled from the kitchen, “Hey, where’d you hide the cookies?” And I’d have yelled back, “Use your eyes, stupid.” And the house would have been full of noise and insult.
What nagged at her, somewhere deep, insisting that the old way was good, and the new way, Audrey’s way, was tinged with evil?
“What were you brooding about?” Tom asked her in their bedroom, later.
Esther hesitated. “I overheard something.”
“What do you mean?”
“I couldn’t help it, Tom. I was out working in the border and they were near the window. Joan said—”
“Yes?”
“Joan said, ‘Courtney was a mistake.’ She spoke as if Audrey hadn’t been so very happy with him.”
“Oh,” said Tom, dismissing this. “That’s just Joan. Joan never did like Courtney. She’s nuts about Audrey, naturally. Audrey’s taken care of her all her life. Joan was jealous, I suppose. Poor thing.”
“Oh, you suppose?” said Esther, a little tartly. This whole diagnosis did not sound spontaneously Tom’s.
“In fact, I know. Audrey told me.”
“When was this?”
“I dunno. One day.” He looked at his chin in the mirror.
The Albatross Page 2
