Doctors (31 page)

Panicked by the thought that she was about to deny their request, Herschel blurted, “But we could have him tutored. Really, Mrs. Bennett, we would get the best tutors. And then he could go to the best
private
school.”

Herschel continued, oblivious to the astonishment on his wife’s face. “We both mean this with our whole hearts. We
want to give your grandson the chance to achieve everything his father wanted for him.”

Elva was inwardly torn. If these folks were serious, if they would really send Linc to a private school, what would
she
be left with? Photographs? War medals? Memories? An empty house?

She wondered what the Good Book would counsel. Her thoughts immediately went to a passage in Proverbs: “Blessed is the man who finds wisdom.… 
Though it cost all you have
, get understanding.” She owed it to her grandson. Even more, she owed it to her son. But she delayed the agonizing decision by asking further questions. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Well,” Herschel replied, “I’ve heard about these so-called ‘prep schools’ where he could live with other boys his age. And then again there are the ‘day schools’ in the Cleveland area.” He again exchanged glances with Hannah. She then said hesitantly, “He—Lincoln—could stay with us.”

Elva found it difficult to contemplate the thought of young Linc actually living with another family. A white family at that. And not only white, but …

“You folks are Israelites, isn’t that right?”

“We are Jews, but we are not religious,” Herschel replied.

“But you believe in Almighty God?”

Before Herschel could confess his agnosticism, Hannah interposed, “Yes, yes. Of course.”

“Could he still go to a Baptist church?”

“I’m sure we could find one,” Hannah replied.

The old woman was silent again, deep in thought.

“You people were once slaves of Pharaoh in Egypt?”

Herschel nodded again. “Yes, a long time ago.”

“My grandfather was a slave, a short time ago. Mr. Lincoln was our Moses. I suppose that gives us something in common.”

“We certainly know what it is to be persecuted, Mrs. Bennett,” Hannah added.

Finally Elva asked, “How would you propose to do this?”

Hannah answered tentatively, herself growing intoxicated by her husband’s dream. “We could take him up to Cleveland. He could live with us as part of the family. We’d treat him like—” her voice broke slightly, “—the child we no longer have.”

Elva pondered for another moment and then said, “I can’t decide this on my own. Linc’s gettin’ to be a big boy now. He’ll have to make up his own mind.”

“What time does he get home from school?” Herschel asked, his heart quickening.

“That depends. Sometimes he stays late and plays ball with the other fellas.” She smiled. “He’s a natural, you know. Just like his dad.”

“Perhaps we could go see him—” Herschel hesitantly suggested. “I’ve got my car outside. If you’d like to come and show us the way …”

“Goodness, you don’ need to drive there, it’s an easy walk. The Nigra school is jus’ where it’s supposed to be.” She smiled ironically. “Across the other side of the railroad tracks.”

Herschel could recognize him at once.

Even if he hadn’t been tall for his age or by far the best of the players scuffling on the dusty schoolyard court, shooting at a netless metal basket, he would know Lincoln Bennett’s son. There was a kind of brightness in his eyes, a zeal, a dynamism that was unmistakable.

“I’ll call him over,” Elva offered.

“No,” said Herschel, “we can wait.” And watch, he added to himself. My God, the boy is handsome, he thought. His father would have been so proud.

After a few minutes, the players noticed the strangers in their midst: the white couple staring at them from the sidelines. Who were they—some kind of school inspectors? And why was Elva with them—had Linc done something wrong?

They stopped playing and Linc, still dribbling the ball deftly, first with one hand, then the other, then behind his back, walked up to his grandmother.

When she introduced the couple as “friends of your daddy during the war” he stopped bouncing the ball and grew solemn.

“You actually knew him?” the boy asked.

“We did and he was always talking about you. And how proud he was. That’s why we wanted to meet you.”

The boy’s face wrinkled up as if on the verge of tears.

“Why don’t we all go and have some ice cream?” Hannah tactfully suggested.

The others waited outside as Herschel went into a “white” grocery store and emerged with chocolate-covered ice cream pops for all. They then slowly walked back to the Bennetts’ home, nervously avoiding any mention of what they were intending to discuss.

Young Linc took an instant liking to Herschel. But the nature of their invitation stunned—and frightened—him.

“You mean leave my granny?” he asked timidly.

“You could come back here for Christmas and vacations,” Herschel offered, hastily adding, “and if you’re unhappy, you could come back right away.”

“Would you like to just give it a try for a little while?” Hannah added gently.

Troubled and in conflict, Linc looked at Elva. She turned to the Landsmanns and said, “I think this is something my grandson and I have got to talk about in private. Could you let us have some time alone?”

Herschel and Hannah agreed almost in unison.

“We could drop by again tomorrow morning if you would like,” Hannah continued.

“I think that’ll be all right,” Elva answered. “I want to pray for guidance. And then we both have got to search our hearts.”

“Herschel, are you crazy in the head? Have you maybe forgotten that you’re not a rich man anymore? Now you’ve made that lovely boy start dreaming about private schools—tutors, even. Where did you get such ideas? You know we’ve got
bubkes
in the bank.”

“I know, I know,” he said half aloud, “but I want to do it so badly I would give anything.…”

“Face it, my darling,” Hannah responded. “We don’t
have
anything.”

They walked two paces before Herschel spoke.

“I do, Hannah.”

“What?”

“I have one last possession that I would sacrifice for Lincoln Bennett.” He paused and then said, “My self-respect.”

Hannah understood at once. “You mean you’d go to Stefan? …”

Herschel shrugged, half-embarrassed, half-defeated. “I know we agreed that we should never put ourselves in his debt because accepting his money might mean accepting his values.”

He then confessed. “Two months ago Stefan opened a bank account in our names and put in twenty thousand dollars. He said it was for a down payment on a house. I didn’t even tell you because I never would have touched it.”

Herschel looked at her. “But Hannah, twenty thousand
could put Lincoln straight through college. So
nu
, Hannah, do you think that’s worth losing my self-respect for?”

She looked at him with love and answered.

“Darling, you wouldn’t be losing anything. We would both be gaining something very precious.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Just please God he says yes.”

They were too excited to eat breakfast so they made a walking tour of Millersburg and ended on a bench in the main square in front of the wooden “Honor Roll” of local soldiers who had died in World War II. It was crowned by the crossed flags of the Star-Spangled Banner and the Confederacy.

“He’ll never come with us.” Hannah sighed pessimistically.

“What makes you say that?”

“Look at this memorial. Look at whose name stands right on top.”

Herschel focused on the list before him. Of all the men from Millersburg who had died in the war, the highest ranking was Colonel Lincoln Bennett. Death had given him the respect he had always been denied in life.

When they returned at the appointed hour they both sat nervously facing the boy and his grandmother. Finally Herschel found the strength to ask, “Have you decided, Linc?”

The boy responded with another question. “What about my friends? I wouldn’t know anybody. I wouldn’t have anyone to play with.”

Herschel answered honestly. “All I can say is that we will do our very best to find you some new friends.”

“And meanwhile you can call your grandma or your classmates here whenever you feel lonely,” offered Hannah.

“Sorry, ma’am, I can’t,” the little boy replied. “Nobody ’round here’s got a phone.”

“But you can write,” said Elva pointedly. “Your father never phoned us up from Europe and still we always kept in touch.”

“Is there anything else that’s troubling you, Linc?” Hannah asked.

He nodded shyly.

“Suppose I … disappoint you?”

“There’s only one way you could disappoint us,” Herschel said emphatically. “That is if you don’t come.”

There was a silence as the young boy looked at his grandma. Now Elva spoke for both of them.

“We both agree his father would have wanted him to go with you.”

Though Herschel wanted to leap with joy, he said simply, “That’s wonderful. My wife and I will stay here till we organize the practical arrangements.” Then to the boy he added warmly, “I promise that you won’t regret this.”

The Landsmanns left intoxicated with hope while Linc was struck dumb by the awesomeness of his decision.

“Herschel, are you
mishugah
? You mean to tell me there aren’t enough
shvartzes
in Cleveland that you have to import another one from the South?”

“Stefan—I mean Steve, I forbid you to talk like that.”

Having found a nearby hotel that would accept them for the night, Herschel had phoned his brother in Cleveland to ask if Steve’s lawyer could find out what they were legally obliged to do.

His brother had been less than enthusiastic about the whole idea. “Listen, Herschel, be reasonable,” Steve continued to argue, “I know you and Hannah want a child. We’ll find you one up here. What am I saying—we’ll find you
two.
You want three? We’ll find you three.”

“I want
this
boy,” said Herschel Landsmann, in a determined tone of voice.

“All right, all right, Hersh. I’ll have my lawyer check out the details and call you in the morning.” And then a final admonition: “Only, don’t blame me when you get turned down for the Country Club.”

The attorney, a young man not long out of Northwestern Law, looked more favorably on the Landsmanns’ proposition. There was, of course, the matter of the mother still
de jure
entitled to the child’s custody. But judging from all he’d heard about Lorraine, he didn’t foresee any problem on that front. It would be easy to prove that the elder Mrs. Bennett had been the actual parent
de facto
and was therefore entitled to transfer guardianship of young Linc to the Landsmanns as foster parents.

There remained but a few minor details for which he would have to consult a law firm in the state of Georgia.

“You folks are doing a wonderful thing,” the attorney said sincerely, at the close of their first telephone consultation.

Oh yes, Herschel confessed to himself, at least I know it’s wonderful for
us.

One evening a week later, he found Hannah sobbing.

“What’s wrong, my love?” he asked.

“I can’t believe it,” she murmured, “we’re going to have a
child
in our house.”

At the beginning the young boy attended the local public school. When they discovered how far behind he was in reading and in math, the Landsmanns hired tutors for him—three hours every afternoon.

Linc did not seem to mind. For he had an unquenchable thirst to learn. And yet, as he confessed to Herschel in one of their heart-to-heart talks, he desperately missed his grandma—and playing basketball. Herschel could do nothing to rectify the first problem, but he could certainly solve the second. Twenty-four hours later a backboard with hoop and net had been set up on the Landsmanns’ garage.

Yet the Landsmanns continued to fret, worrying that perhaps they were driving Linc too hard.

“Do you think we’re overpressuring him?” Herschel asked late one afternoon. He had come home early from the office and Linc was still closeted upstairs with Miss Alsop, his English tutor. “He may hate us someday for all the time we keep him prisoner with the extra lessons.”

“No, honestly,” his wife assured him, “I think he enjoys it. There’s excitement in his eyes. He wants to learn.”

“That’s right, I do.”

They turned. Linc had just entered. “I love it, really. I wouldn’t even mind if I had tutoring on Sundays—’cause then it wouldn’t be long before I catch up to the pack.”

“And then—?” asked Herschel with delight.

“And then I’ll pass them,” said the boy with blithe self-confidence.

The next summer, they presented him as a candidate for Shaker Heights Academy. It was not the usual time for admissions. But the headmaster was persuaded by the tenacity of the foster parents, the letters from his teachers and tutors, not to mention a telephone call from their local Congressman (Steve had reluctantly arranged that ploy).

But most of all he was impressed by the young man’s intellectual potential. Linc did astonishingly well on the exams they set specially for him. No one would have credited the fact that only months ago he had been scarcely literate.

Moreover, the director of admissions suggested that it might
be something of an interesting experiment. That is, to have a colored youngster in the otherwise snow-white student body.

“Sort of like a foreign student, you might say.”

“Quite,” the headmaster agreed. “And one might also say we’re killing two birds with a single stone.”

“How so?” his colleague asked.

“Well, not only is the lad colored, but his foster parents are, you know—of Hebrew stock. That would put an end to some of the complaints we’ve had of late.”

They little knew how significant their admission of Lincoln Bennett, Jr., would turn out to be. For—as he had predicted—having caught up with the pack, Linc proceeded to outdistance them. In fact, after a single term they had to promote him to a higher class in English, Math, and Science.