by Gaus, P. L.
And Harry. Oh, what a man he had been! It had been six years, now. Six years and seven months, or something near that, anyway. There had been so much left to do.
But never mind. He had given her his legacy in time to make a difference. To dominate. To manage a fortune. She had always thought that her marriage to Harry Newton Favor would be the only thing that could ever matter to her. But, oh, how wrong!
She was running now, sweating lightly and smiling. Through superb conditioning, she had passed rapidly into her runner’s endorphin zone, where, for her, there was always a clear and sustaining vision of purpose.
Fortune.
Wealth.
Money—the only reliable commodity.
A vehicle for power, to be sure, but also a surpassing comfort just to have it. To grow it. Money enabled everything in her life. It was a means, a resource, a currency. And used properly, it could be transformed into anything. Possessions. Health and vitality. Power. Travel. Even time. Money bought time for everything.
But using it was only scant half to its greater challenge—keeping it. The simple possession of wealth, Juliet Favor figured, was key to this world and all it held. She had learned this hard lesson as a poor girl. True, it could buy anything, take her anywhere, set her free with all the time she needed. It garnered influence and power. That we’ll see tonight, she thought. But having and holding wealth gave the truest joys. To use it, yes, obviously. But to have it, to keep it—that transcends it all. Most people never understood that. Wealth had long ago become both the foundation and the strong-hold of her soul. And this was the legacy she intended to leave her children. Well, at least her son. If he proved equal to the task.
AT AN oval dressing mirror, Juliet Favor watched as Daniel Bliss pinned the red carnation to the lapel of her blazer. He was a tall, thin, elderly gentleman dressed in a tuxedo. His white hair was brushed back and lay close to his scalp. His angular face was accented by high cheekbones and thin lips. Gray eyes watched Juliet attentively, but with a practiced, reserved disinterest.
“Have you prepared both pitchers of drinks?” she asked.
“Yes,” Daniel replied. “Yours is the green Tiffany. The Waterford is for everyone else.”
“Sonny is here?”
“In the parlor, ma’am.”
“Set up in the bar, Daniel, and take them in there. I’ll be down shortly.”
“We’re on the clock, ma’am,” Daniel remarked.
“I know that well enough,” Favor replied, reaching up to pat the butler’s cheek playfully. “I want her to cool her heels a bit. Fix them both up with drinks, Daniel. We don’t want to be inhospitable.”
“Very well, ma’am, but I doubt she’ll have one,” Daniel said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll see,” Daniel replied and walked out into the hallway to take the grand staircase to the first floor.
Favor watched the time carefully and descended at 7:38 P.M. In the bar, she found her son in blue jeans and a green-and-white Millersburg College sweatshirt. He crossed the room to his mother and attempted to embrace her, but she held him stiffly by the shoulders and permitted only a brief, formal kiss on her cheek.
“You disappoint me, Sonny. Surely you can dress better than this for such an occasion.”
Sonny Favor blushed. His gaze fell to the floor, and, glancing anxiously at a young girl in plain dress, he knew she had seen his shame. “Mom, I’d like you to meet Martha Lehman,” he managed to say.
At the teak and walnut bar, Juliet Favor poured a drink and remarked, “Now there is a girl who can dress for an occasion.”
Martha Lehman stood with good posture and a hopeful smile at the other end of the ornate bar. On her head was a white lace prayer cap. Her brown hair was up in a Mennonite bun. Her cotton blouse was light pink with white buttons, and her long skirt was forest green. Over those, she wore a white apron, tied behind her neck and waist. She had on black hose and black string-tie shoes. A small pair of wire-rimmed glasses accented her eyes, which were blue. Her cheeks flushed rose as Favor turned to appraise her from head to toe.
“Miss Lerman,” Favor said and came along the bar holding out her hand.
“It’s Lehman,” Martha said. “Martha. And how do you do, Mrs. Favor?”
“Ms. Favor,” Juliet said with a smile.
“Ms. Favor, then,” Martha greeted again and turned her eyes nervously to Sonny. “How do you do.”
“That remains to be seen,” Favor said and asked, “You’re not having anything to drink, Martha?”
Sonny and Martha stepped away from the bar and held hands. Favor turned her back to them, drained her glass, and poured another drink from the green Tiffany pitcher. Still with her back turned, she watched them in the mirror behind the bar and said, “I presume you’ve found time for your studies, Sonny. Has he, Martha?” She turned slowly to them and added, “You have been letting Sonny study some, now, haven’t you, young Martha Lehman?”
Martha blushed and started to say something. Sonny spoke up. “I’ve been studying plenty, Mother. Got at least a B in ’most everything.”
“’Most everything’! Sonny, where in the world did you learn to talk? Favors are raised to do better.”
“Almost everything,” Sonny corrected.
“And some C’s, no doubt.”
“I’m doin’ fine,” Sonny said weakly.
“Sonny, Sonny,” Favor said disapprovingly and sipped at her drink.
Sonny was a large, plump boy with black hair and rosy cheeks. He held himself erect for the most part, the result of long years of training in private schools. Now, though, his shoulders had rounded and slumped. He nervously shifted his weight and let go of Martha’s hand, as if he had forgotten she was there.
Favor came forward slowly, reached up to rest a gentle hand on Sonny’s shoulder, watched his downcast eyes for a moment, and said, “We Favors look for A’s. What would Daddy think?”
Sonny shrugged and tried to hide his embarrassment by avoiding the eyes of both women. His shoulders seemed to carry a heavy yet familiar burden.
“Now, Sonny,” Favor said. “Step into the parlor so Martha and I can talk. I’ll bring her out to you.”
AFTER a long, appraising silence, Juliet Favor said to Martha Lehman, “I presume, Martha, that your costume signifies some religious sect.”
“It’s Mennonite, ma’am,” Martha replied.
“Not Amish? I hope you’re not one of those backward country girls. Sonny’s future can harbor none of that.”
Taken aback, Martha managed only, “Ma’am?”
“I have plans for Sonny, Martha. You can appreciate that, I’m sure. I’ve known plenty of trashy country girls who figured on breeding their way into wealth.”
Martha took a step forward and defended herself. “My family is conservative Mennonite. I see no reason to apologize for that. It’s a sect derived from the old Black Bumper Amish.”
“Black Bumper Amish?” Juliet repeated, intrigued despite herself.
“Yes. They drove cars, but painted the bumpers and shiny metal parts flat black. But, even if I were Amish, you have no reason to fear my relationship with Sonny.”
“Fear? My dear girl, I assure you I do not fear anything about you. You may be in college, but you’re still just a plain country girl with designs on my boy. You know our family has money.”
Martha, unsettled, made no reply.
Juliet Favor stepped up to Martha, a scant five inches from her face, and continued talking softly, taking satisfaction that Martha’s eyes sought the carpet at her feet, and that her cheeks and ears flamed red.
IT TOOK no more than six minutes. Martha came alone to Sonny in the parlor with pools in her eyes. She looked at him with a lost expression, and the tears spilled out onto her cheeks. He embraced her, feeling more confused than sorry.
“Mom’s not so bad once you get to know her,” he said awkwardly. “She thinks of family, first. Duty, obligations, her ‘legacy.’ Give her
a chance, Martha. She’s had it rough since Dad died, and I think she overcompensates.”
SONNY left Martha in the parlor and came back nervously through the main foyer, where a grand staircase led to the second-floor hallway with the master bath and bedroom. This was the front staircase. A rear one led from the kitchen at the back of the house to a second-floor vestibule with two bedrooms, each with an attached bath.
Sonny crossed in front of the main stairs and marched across the marble floor, into the bar. Passing through, he entered a library and turned left to take a door to Daniel’s office and prep room adjoining the formal dining room on the other side. He found his mother there with the butler, in a long, narrow room, which Daniel had fitted with a small desk and a laptop, china and crystal cabinets, and a chest for silver service. There were also prep tables for dinners, and a tall refrigerator with glass doors, holding beverages of all descriptions. A wet bar stood against the wall beside the refrigerator. The narrow aisle down the middle of the room was wide enough for only two people to pass comfortably.
Favor poured herself another drink as Sonny squeezed past her and took a 7 UP from the refrigerator. Juliet sipped her drink slowly and appraised her son carefully. Daniel stood silently at the far end of the narrow room, by the swinging doors to the kitchen and pantries beyond.
Eventually, Sonny managed to ask, “What did you say to her, Mom?”
“Why, nothing at all, really, Sonny. Of course I wanted her to know how important your studies are to us. You’d agree to that, wouldn’t you?”
“I guess so, if that was all.”
“Of course. Now, what’s the problem?”
“She’s crying.”
“She’s the emotional type, Sonny. I saw that right away. She’ll be fine.”
“I’ve never seen her so upset,” Sonny said, confused by his emotions. He felt guilty again, but did not understand why. It seemed to him that he had often felt this way, even as a child, and that he had, in some unnatural way, grown accustomed to it. “I want you to like her, Mom.”
“I’m sure I will, Sonny. Now don’t leave the poor thing alone too long.”
Sonny looked to Daniel for reassurance, but Daniel avoided his gaze.
Favor let a moment pass as she sipped her drink, and then she took her son by the arm, escorted him back into the library, and headed him toward the front parlor. Back in Daniel’s room, she said, “That kid’s going to need nursemaiding all his life.”
“He’s still young, Ms. Favor,” Daniel said.
“He’s a spineless dope. Not recognizable as Harry’s son,” she muttered, squeezing her temples between thumb and forefinger. She rubbed at the back of her neck, eyes shut tight. “You call Dick Pomeroy?” she asked, weakly. “I’m out of medicine.”
“Professor Pomeroy will arrive ahead of the others.”
“Good,” Favor said, with her eyes still closed. “DiSalvo is next, right?”
“He’s due any minute.”
“Show him into the parlor.”
“Sonny and his young lady are probably still there.”
“I know that!” Favor snapped. “I want Sonny to hear that I’m changing my will. Want to see if that will snap him around.”
“You’ve got DiSalvo until 8:20, and then it’s President Laughton.”
“Him you can leave in the foyer,” Favor schemed. “It’ll serve him right for opposing me on the board. Let him hold his hat for a good ten minutes in the front foyer. I want you to leave the doors to the parlor open so he can see me working with DiSalvo. I’ll take Laughton into the bar, then, when I think he’s heard enough. You be sure Sonny gets there too, if I don’t have him with me then. And please see to DiSalvo while I’m talking to Laughton. He gets hungry, so please bring him something.”
“I do recall, ma’am. I’ll see that he’s taken care of.”
HENRY DiSalvo pushed his boots through the white drifts on the steps to the wraparound front porch. The porch was lighted brightly by several hanging fixtures, but he had walked the last fifty yards up the drive in the dark. His face and glasses had been pelted with snow and sleet, and his long black coat was plastered white in front. He rang the door chimes, and Daniel, waiting for him inside, opened the doors immediately. DiSalvo brushed off his overcoat before entering, and, once he was inside with the doors closed, Daniel took his coat, gloves, and hat.
From a briefcase, DiSalvo took out a pair of brown penny loafers and stood, first on one foot and then on the other, to pull off hiking boots and put on the loafers. Daniel steadied the elderly gentleman by holding his arm.
“We are serving martinis and hors d’oeuvres now,” Daniel said, “and Madam hopes you’ll stay for dinner later this evening.”
“I could use a drink,” DiSalvo replied. “And Daniel, I had to leave my car about halfway down the drive. Stuck in the snow, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll see to it,” Daniel said. “Ms. Favor will join you in the parlor, Mr. DiSalvo.”
DiSalvo handed Daniel the keys to his car, and, knowing the house well, took the doors to his left, went into the spacious parlor, and walked to the far wall, by the fireplace. As he warmed himself at the wood fire, his eyes wandered along the mantel where several tall baseball trophies flanked a squat brass trophy depicting the low scrummage of a rugby team. He tilted the trophy back, bent his head low, and read the inscription on the bottom:
Ohio Athletic Conference
1970 Champions
Millersburg College
Henry Luke DiSalvo, Coach
Harry Newton Favor, Captain
He eased the trophy into place, turned his back to the fire, and reacquainted himself with the Favor parlor. The decor was French Provincial, and DiSalvo knew some of the smaller armchairs to be authentic Louis XIV. The long drapes on the front window had been chosen by his wife in France, twenty years ago, when the DiSalvos had vacationed with the Favors on the Continent. His Elaine was gone now, and so was Harry Favor. Feeling melancholy, he took a seat in front of the windows, on a divan covered in yellow flowered fabric. He opened his briefcase, set a black Thinkpad across his knees, and punched up the documents in the Juliet Favor account. From the file menu, he chose the second document on the list, Last Will and Testament. He began proofreading out of habit.
Soon Daniel reappeared with a silver tray of martinis and canapés and announced Favor and her son. Favor entered the room with an expansive sweep of her arms and said, “Tonight, Henry! All the details ready?”
“Right here,” DiSalvo replied and tapped the screen on his laptop. Awkwardly, he tried to rise to his feet holding the laptop open, and Favor said, “For goodness sake, Henry, sit down.”
DiSalvo dropped back onto the divan and said, “Tonight we’ll finalize, and by tomorrow I’ll have all the documents prepared for your signature. My calendar is yours for the entire day.”
“We should be done by 4:00,” Favor said. “They’re all going to try to see me early, I’m sure, but Daniel knows the appointment schedule. You’ve got Sunday scheduled for the second group, too?”
“Yes. The other academic departments,” DiSalvo said. “Those from Saturday’s banquet.”
Daniel crossed the room to DiSalvo and bent deferentially to offer the tray to the lawyer. DiSalvo selected a plate of crackers and pâté, which he set on an antique table beside the divan. He also took a martini and sipped lightly before setting the glass on a silver coaster next to the plate.
“Take a seat next to Mr. DiSalvo there, Sonny,” Favor instructed. “We’ve matters to discuss.”
“I want to call to see if Martha got home all right,” Sonny answered and turned to the door.
“Nonsense!” Favor barked. “Sit down and sit down now, Sonny.” Her eyes narrowed fiercely, and to cover her irritation, she stepped to the windows to make a show of adjusting the curtains. There she glanced out briefly at sleet raking the front porch, and sighed heavily.
“Where’s your Lexus, Sonny?” Favor demanded and turned t
o see her son taking a seat on a delicate antique chair. “Not the Louis XIV, Sonny! Show some common sense, will you. I swear, Daniel, show Junior where to sit.”
She turned back to look out the front parlor windows, and Sonny caught a reflection of her expression in the window glass. His eyes tipped to the carpet. “Martha took the car,” he muttered.
Spinning around, Juliet said, “You’re going to have to plow, Daniel. Too many people tonight, not to plow it out at least once.”
“Right away, Ms. Favor,” Daniel answered. He set the martini tray on a round table with maple inlays near the fireplace and left through an ornate door to the dining room.
“Sonny, I expected better from you, bringing a Plain Jane like that to see me. And to let her drive your Lexus! What’s wrong with your head?”
“She wanted to go back to town in the worst way, Mom. What did you say to her?” Sonny asked, taking a seat next to DiSalvo.
“She could have gotten a ride back with any of a dozen people tonight.”
“I didn’t know that, Mom.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I hope you didn’t hurt her feelings.”
“I’ve got plans for you, Sonny. Don’t make me think that you’re not ready.”
Confused by his emotions, Sonny glanced nervously at DiSalvo.
His mother said, “You are supposed to move into the business, Sonny. Now I’m not sure you’ll measure up.” She drained her martini glass and crossed the room to pour another drink from her green pitcher.
“What are you talking about?” Sonny asked.
“I’m reorganizing the whole estate,” she replied. “Why do you think Mr. DiSalvo is here?”
Instinctively, Sonny reached for an anchor. “I’ve got a trust fund. I’ll have that in three years, and you can’t touch it.”
“True, Sonny. The trust is yours. Your sister’s is the same, but it was supposed to go to her next month.”
Sonny stood up and paced in front of the divan.
