The Vineyard (34 page)

What with Alexander staying overseas after the war ended, we were separated for nearly five years. Granted, he had leave time, but those days were too few and frantic for getting to know someone. Add to that the fact that I hadn't known him well when we married, and when he finally came home, I found I was living with a stranger. The children didn't know him and were leery, which made things all the harder. But at least he was home. Things were going to improve. Alexander was going to save Asquonset. That was why I had married him
.

Alexander was going to save Asquonset. That was why I had married him
.

How often I said that during the years when he was gone, years when I missed Carl far more than Alexander. It was a terrible time for me, and I did suffer. Once the novelty of being married wore off and the situation here worsened, I wanted Carl
.

But Alexander was going to save Asquonset. That was why I had married him
.

It became my mantra. It was the only thing that kept me going during the bleakest of those days
.

Bleak?

Maybe that's the wrong word. They were hard. They were filled with work and worry. We were always hoping for letters. The mailmen gave priority to ones from the front and would deliver them whenever they arrived, which meant that we were always on the lookout. Of course, an unexpected visit could also be from the minister. We feared that kind. We'd been through it once. Each night we sat in front of the radio in the living room
and listened to news from the front. We shuddered each time we learned that another local boy had died
.

These were lonely days for me. My children were too young to offer companionship. I had no one to talk with, no one to complain to, no one to seek help from. I was on my own
.

But Alexander was going to save Asquonset. That was why I had married him
.

So, where was the money?

That was a very good question. Not that I did the asking. It wasn't my place. I was the woman. I was the daughter. It was my father's place. After all, he was the one who had negotiated the deal
.

“Coming after the war,” he said with an unhappy grunt the one time I dared ask. So I staked my hopes on that. Alexander would save Asquonset once the war was done. And in so doing, he would save my father's life. We just had to hold on long enough
.

Well, we did hold on, Jeremiah and I. We kept things going until Carl returned and took over some of the responsibility. For me, it was both better and worse—better because there was someone to help, worse because that someone was Carl. I had to see him every day. I had to remember what might have been and, finally, explain to him why it wouldn't ever be
.

Alexander was going to save Asquonset. Once he returned from the war, he was going to invest in the vines that would give my father a new lease on life. Asquonset would grow as a vineyard in ways it hadn't quite grown as a farm
.

In theory, Alexander's promise wasn't empty. His family had two very successful shoe factories that, despite suffering during the Depression, remained very much alive and vital. Then war broke out, and instead of making shoes for a struggling population, the Seebring factories were suddenly making boots not only for American soldiers but for our allies as well. They couldn't make them fast enough, the demand was so great
.

Well, the war did end the Depression. As awful as that sounds, it was true. The Seebring factories were only one of the beneficiaries. Not only did our fighting men have to be clothed, they had to be fed. They had to be armed. They had to be provided with vehicles for land, sea, and air combat. Many a
business that had struggled was suddenly thriving. Alexander's certainly wasn't unique
.

Then the war ended, and the same people who had squirreled away their pennies in the shadow of the Depression now had optimism and a nest egg. The same factories that had been turning out uniforms now turned out suits for men to wear in civilian life, or dresses for women to wear celebrating peace. The same factories that had been turning out combat boots began turning out shoes for pleasure
.

That was what was supposed to have happened at the Seebring plants. Had things gone as planned, they would have converted to peacetime production and thrived
.

What happened? Alexander's father had died midway through the war and was out of the managerial picture. Alexander named a trustee to oversee things until he returned. He was caught up playing spy and stayed in Europe longer than I would have liked
.

No. No. It's unfair of me to say that. Don't write it, Olivia. Alexander wasn't playing spy. He was doing something that needed to be done. Collecting evidence for the war crimes trials was important. The atrocities of the Third Reich had to be answered
.

But Alexander's being there created a void here. If he had come back at the end of the war, along with the rest of the servicemen, the factories might have been saved. By the time he did return, though, the damage was done. His trustee had absconded with the profits, and the conversion that would have cashed in on the postwar prosperity never took place. By the time Alexander returned, the factories were dark
.

So. I told you about the first day I ever laid eyes on Carl. And about the day he left for the war and the day I married someone else. Now let me tell you about the day I learned that it had all been a waste and that I had given him up for nothing
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It was a Sunday. Alexander had been home for a month, but was gone most every day to see to his factories. We all thought they were fully operational and that he was simply fine-tuning what had been done in his absence. He didn't tell us about the trustee or about shutting down. He left with a smile in the morning and returned with a smile at night
.

In fact, just then we were the least of his worries. He had lost his family business. It was gone. It took him a month of scrambling around trying to salvage something, anything, before he accepted that himself. Then he had to break the news to us. What better day to do it than on a Sunday? Sunday was the Sabbath. It was a day for going to church, a day of understanding and forgiveness
.

So we went to church and came home for dinner. My father was too weak for church—by then he rarely left the house—but he did join us at the table that day. Alexander waited until we were done eating. The children had gone in for naps. I cleaned the kitchen
.

Al was listening to the radio with my father. As soon as I joined them, he turned the radio off. He returned to his chair, leaned forward, hung his head just a little
.

“I have some bad news,” he said and proceeded to tell us what the trustee had done. He spent a long while talking about his attempts to reverse the damage. He repeated in detail conversations that he had had with local workers. He told about working with the police to no avail, and he acknowledged the anger and frustration he felt
.

I listened closely, but it was awhile before I took in the words. After all, Alexander was going to save Asquonset. He was going to give my father what he most needed. That was why I had married him, rather than waiting for Carl
.

Only, Alexander had no money. He couldn't save Asquonset
.

My father was white as a sheet. After three tries, and then only with my help, he rose from his chair. He was pitifully thin and stooped, shaking so badly that I began talking off the top of my head just to reassure him
.

“We'll find money,” I said. “We'll get your vines. Don't you fret. We'll find a way. You just lie down now and get your strength, so that when the plants come, you'll be able to tell Jeremiah where you want them.”

He didn't speak. His head was turned away, his eyes vacant. I could tell it was over; he had given up
.

I ached for him. He was my father, I loved him, and he was dying right there before my eyes. I helped him to bed and sat with him until the children woke up. By then Alexander was his old ebullient self
.

Not me. I needed to think. I needed to be alone
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I asked him to watch the children. But he was off to meet a wartime buddy in Newport
.

So I bundled up the children. Brad was nearly five. He walked, usually ran on ahead. I carried Susanne. She was only two
.

I headed for the water. We walked on and on. It was a brisk September day, sunny but cool. When we reached the ocean, we climbed up on the rocks to a spot where we could sit and watch the surf without being hit by the spume
.

I remember being awed by the force of the waves hitting the rocks, by the thunder of the crash, awed by the beauty of it all. Of course, beauty was the last thing I felt inside. I felt empty and dark. I felt powerless. Sitting there on those rocks, I was overcome with despair
.

I thought about jumping
.

For the space of a minute, I did—I thought about jumping
.

Then Brad wrapped his arms around my neck. The ocean frightened him. He needed reassurance
.

It was enough to bring me to my senses
.

Before I could think about it again, I scooped up the two of them and headed back. I don't know where I found the strength to carry them both, but I did it. By the time I was in the farmhouse again, I had found a new resolve
.

It was an epiphanous experience.