Her Father's House (26 page)

Chapter 23

A
fresh snow had dusted the ground that morning, sparkling like spilled sugar. Now in the evening it lay here and there in patches with grass poking through it.

Jim had wanted this walk with his daughter. It was the last night of spring break, and they would not be seeing each other until commencement at the end of May. Laura had packing to do; she would be leaving shortly after dawn, so the walk, by mutual unspoken agreement, was very short. Unspoken, too, were their thoughts about another long separation. Who could say how long? It depended upon where life would take her, and who could answer that question? They were both keeping themselves from dwelling on that, thinking rather of the joy, the triumph, and the pride. Each knew from long association what the other was thinking. Or at least could make a pretty good guess: Laura that she had the strength of a solid family behind her and Jim that she had, thank God, known nothing but honor and goodness in this house.

At the front door the dogs went ahead to their beds in the hall. At the top of the stairs Jim gave Laura a kiss and a reminder:
six-thirty on the dot.

“I forgot to bring my alarm clock.”

“Mom or I will knock on your door.”

“Dad? You're sure to come to the commencement? I want you to.”

“I'll be there. Sleep well.”

In his own room he said to Kate, “I'm ashamed of myself. All this emotion! You didn't seem to feel this way when Rick went away to graduate school.”

“This is different,” she answered gently.

Time, time, he thought, and saw himself as he still so often did, driving a long, dark road with his baby and her stuffed bear on the backseat.

Chapter 24

H
onors,” Jim repeated. “Graduated with highest honors.
Summa cum laude
.”

From the hotel's window in the light of late afternoon, one looked out across a wide avenue to islands of fine old brick on an ocean of spring green that belonged to the university. He was, however, not seeing these; he was seeing, and no doubt would forever see, his Laura wearing cap and gown, coming down the walk in the academic procession that morning.

Kate was smiling at him. “Our Laura,” she said.

There was certainly nothing unusual in her use of the word “our,” any more than there was in his use of it when speaking of Richard, yet on this particular day, he was moved by the word. But then, on this particular day, a feather's touch could have moved him.

Kate had begun to struggle with a row of buttons on the back of her dress, so he went over to help her. This was a small enough gesture, taken for granted, yet it, too, seemed to have greater significance at this moment; it was an intimate, a proprietary act, as when she straightened his tie, and from it his thoughts went, as if by inheritance, to the next generation.

In all the crowd and excitement of the day, Richard and Gilbert had not yet seen each other. Have I been having a foolish fantasy about Richard, he asked himself, that in the end there might be a chance for him? Gilbert is still hanging on, not that I have any objection, and not that it would do any good if I did have any. Well, that situation would work itself out by itself, as things do.

“There, you're buttoned. That's a nice dress. We'd better go down. Dinner's at seven, you said? I do wish she hadn't chosen a medical school in New York.” And when Kate did not answer, “I know, I've harped on that before, haven't I?”

“You certainly have. Come on, and stop worrying.”

He said hastily, “I'm not. I'm not worrying. I'm glad Gilbert and his parents have their own party, so there'll just be the four of us at the table. It'll be like old times, just the four of us. Let's go.”

In the dining room when they looked at each other, each knew very well that they were both thinking the same thing. They made a handsome pair, these two young ones of theirs. Richard, tall and tanned, was fairly unfamiliar in the jacket and tie, an outfit seldom worn at Foothills Farm. Laura's dress was light blue; did it come naturally for a woman to match her dress to her eyes? Jim wondered.

She was unusually vivacious. “Gil's found an apartment for me. It's about halfway between my school and his place. It has two big rooms and a tiny, clean kitchen, all new. Plenty of space for my stuff, computer and everything. And not too expensive, Dad, trust me.”

“I always do,” Jim said.

He could manage the cost. It would be a fairly tight squeeze, but he spent very little on himself, and he would manage. Through his head now there flashed a reflection of the funds he had regularly put aside for her during her first two years; the sum had not been a small one to begin with, and through all these years, it must have swollen to a figure that he had not even tried to estimate. What was the use? It was lost and gone. Untouchable.

“Gil's in there. They took a private room,” Laura explained, pointing toward the hallway. “They have three tables, an enormous family, all sorts of cousins. They're very close, so they've come from everywhere to see him get his law degree. It's so exciting.”

Yes, yes, it had been, walking in to the music of “Pomp and Circumstance” and receiving his law degree . . . so many years ago now. His photograph had turned out well, eyes open, pleasant smile, no toothy grin, the camera just right. Forever lost, that moment, and that photograph, too, ground up in the trash on the last morning.

“I didn't tell you that Gil's had three different offers, from the best firms in New York. The one he's going to does a lot of international law, I think. Paris, London, Rome, you name it. All that traveling! No job for you, Dad.”

Oh, he knew. Westminster Abbey, the Arc de Triomphe, the Forum, and much, much more: Cairo, Delhi, another life, another person . . .

Richard was staring at him, or perhaps not staring, for what was there to stare at? Unless there had been some odd expression on his face? Or probably he was only imagining the stare because Richard was saying something to him.

“How does the lobster bisque sound for starters, Jim?”

Ever since Richard had returned to work as assistant supervisor on the farm, he had, at Jim's insistence, stopped calling him “Uncle Jim.” Richard was twenty-six, no boy anymore. A “practical idealist,” Jim had named him. The woman who got him would be lucky.

“Sounds good to me,” he answered, coming to himself. Fits of nostalgia were out of place today. Indeed, he very seldom had any, and most likely was having one now solely
because
Gil had gotten his law degree this morning.

“Yes, let's get to the menu,” Kate said promptly. “I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starved.”

She had read his mind. He was sure of it, as he was sure there was mental telepathy between them. And he winked at her:
Sorry. Don't mind me. I'll be happy,
said the wink.
I
am
happy.

So they ate, they talked, they had varied opinions about the chief speakers, and took their time and were deep in discussion when Gilbert appeared.

“I haven't seen you people since the procession this morning. I just had to break away from my table to say hello. They're all deep in reminiscences at our party. I haven't seen you all in a while, anyway, especially you, Richard.”

“Hello, Gil. Let me steal a chair for you.”

How young they were, the three of them, Laura between the two men. And again Jim thought, this could be an interesting situation. One never knew. Once in New York, where no doubt those two would be as good as living together, she might get tired of that, or he might. It happened all the time. Not that he knew much about such things anymore; he had long been away from those situations. Still, human nature didn't change, and being what it was, she might start remembering Richard—

“What did you think about the dean's speech, Mr. Fuller?” Gilbert was deeply earnest. “Frankly, I think he went a little too far when he made that comparison with the situation in Korea.”

Jim, who with only half an ear had heard enough to reply intelligently, agreed. “Yes, but also when he went on to analyze the changes in Russia, it seemed to me that he knew exactly what he was talking about. I read his book this winter, and—does anybody see our waiter? We need more wine. Nobody's driving anywhere, so we can—”

“Rolls, too,” Kate said. “I love those dark ones. I never see them at home, only in that restaurant when we go to Atlanta.”

“Oh, I remember. It was such a lovely day, the day we bought this dress, Mom. And on the way home we stopped at the kennel you read about and brought Clancy home—”

“When those two women go shopping, you never know what they'll bring back. Whoever thought we needed another puppy?”

A hard hand snapped Jim's shoulder. A hearty voice bellowed into his ear. “Don! Don Wolfe! Where the hell have you been all these years?”

There was a pause, a fraction of an instant in which time stopped.

Steady now. Very, very steady. This is it. At last. This is it.

“I'm afraid you've made a mistake,” Jim said pleasantly. “That's not my name.”

“What? I'd know you anywhere, Don.”

“I'm sorry. My name's not Don.”

“What the hell! Quit kidding, Don.”

“You've made a mistake,” Jim repeated, still pleasantly, and raised a forkful of mashed potatoes to his mouth.

“A mistake? Don Wolfe from Carter High, played catcher, Sycamore Street, number eighteen, was it? No, sixteen.”

“Please,” Jim said firmly now with blood racing cold, or was it hot, and was his face in flames? “You have the wrong man, mister.”

The intruder persisted. “Cut it out. This isn't funny. What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Half laughing, Kate exclaimed, “But it really is funny. Oh, these things happen. I once met a woman who swore that we had grown up together at the same school in Nebraska. In my entire life, I've never set one foot in Nebraska!”

Calmly, Jim cut a slice of meat, while the man stood hulking above him. For God's sake, how long would he stand there?

“I don't know what kind of act this is.” In a large, angry face, the man's eyes narrowed, swiveled across the group, and returned to Jim. “If you're not Donald Wolfe, I'm a buffalo. If you're not Donald Wolfe, I'll eat my—”

“Then go sit down and eat it,” Laura shouted.

Richard and Gilbert half rose in their seats. No doubt it was this movement of two brawny young men that put an end to the encounter, for, grumbling and with a hostile backward look, the visitor moved away.

“Of all the disgusting—” Laura said furiously.

Kate's cheeks were darkly red. “Ridiculous!” she cried. “Absolutely ridiculous. And so nasty about it, the fool.”

“He's had a few too many,” observed Gilbert.

Richard dismissed the subject. “It takes all kinds. What were we talking about? Oh yes, the dean's speech. Jim, Mom, do you remember the president's speech at my college commencement? It must have lasted an hour. Talk about being long-winded! He had a great theme, though. Do you remember . . .”

In his own deft way, Richard was trying to settle the atmosphere. Like his mother, he seems to read me, Jim was thinking as, without appearing to do so, he gauged the temperature of the table. It seemed to be normal. So then, no damage had been done? Apparently none, he decided, while his heart still drummed in his ears.

But the aggressive, loudmouthed boor—which he had always been—was only a few tables away; he had changed his seat so that now, with a turn of the head, he was able to see Jim, and Jim was able to see him, only three tables removed.

“Dad! The way he stares!” Laura was defiant. “Well, I'll just stare back at him.”

“No, don't do that. Don't rile him. Don't, Laura.”

Gil laughed. “Especially since there's no law against staring.”

“Listen to you,” Laura said. “How many hours since you received the degree, Gil? And already talking like a lawyer.”

Jim was struggling not to get up and walk away. He had to get out of this place right now. Now. If only they wouldn't all linger over dessert, first to select it, then to eat it, and linger afterward over coffee.

“Here come my parents. They've been wanting to meet you,” Gilbert said.

There followed the usual scraping of chairs as the couple approached, as the men stood to greet the mother, as hands were shaken, as more chairs were brought, mutual congratulations exchanged, and cordial conversation begun.

Ordinarily, Jim would have wanted to observe Gil's family with care, but all he saw of them now was an impediment, a pair of simply but handsomely dressed people, urbane and gracious, using up precious time.

Could he be imagining that the enemy was still watching him from that corner and was perhaps about to return? Or could his terror be paranoid?

“Yes,” said Mrs. Maples—her name was Harriet, and some fifteen minutes ago he had been instructed to call her that—“we have been getting your catalog for ages, and what a surprise it was when Laura told us that you were her parents. My brother-in-law has a lovely place in Westchester. The house is screened from the road with your trees, your beautiful Scotch pines. Foothills Farm. It must be delightful.”

Kate's hand was fingering a spoon, the fingers trembling, but her voice was even. “Well, anytime you travel in our direction,” she said, “we'd love to show it to you.”

“Clive and I are great travelers, so maybe we will. Who knows?” Meaning, of course, who knows whether our son and your daughter will still be together.

Jim looked toward Laura: a “find” if there ever was one. If he had a son, he would want him to find a young woman like her, with her charm and her intelligence.

Yet there was a sword hanging over her head. Long had he been aware of it hanging over his own, but now, abruptly, he saw that she was standing under it next to him. What would these people think of her if they knew the truth?

“Mom has all kinds of unusual things in the greenhouse,” Laura was saying. “Bellflowers, lilies that bloom in the fall, and of course, her gardenias.”

Kate objected. “Gardenias aren't unusual.”

“I know, but yours are especially sumptuous. Dad, I would absolutely, positively love to have a soufflé for dessert.”

“You should have ordered it before dinner. It takes too long to make,” Richard said.

Had he read Jim's mind, or as so often, guessed his mood?

“I know, but I didn't notice it on the menu. I've hardly ever had one—no, I've only had one once, come to think of it.”

“At the midsummer fair,” Richard reminded her. “Four years ago.”

“So isn't it time she had one again? It's her big day,” Gilbert said. “She'd like chocolate, I'm sure. She always does.”

“Do you see the waiter, Richard? We're ready to order dessert,” Kate prompted. And then, assuming what Jim when teasing called her “wifely tone,” Kate turned toward him. “You've been such a good sport all day, dear. Why don't you go on up to the room?

“Jim's had a stomach upset since early this morning,” she explained, “and now he's eaten a full dinner, when he should have had just tea and toast. Now go, Jim,” she scolded. “Go on, take care of yourself. We're only family and friends. Nobody'll mind.”

“Shall I go with you?” Richard asked Jim.

“No, no, no. Kate's too cautious, as usual. I'm fine. It's nothing. I'm sorry. Take your time, everybody. Have two desserts, one for me. Glad to have met you, Harriet, Clive. Thanks, everybody.”

He heard himself, staccato, absurd, smiling and stumbling toward the doorway. Crossing the lobby to the elevator, his fear that the enemy had risen to follow him was so palpable that it chilled his back. When the elevator door slid shut, he took a deep breath; it was as if he had not breathed properly for a long, long time—although that, too, was absurd.