Fortune's Hand (28 page)

“Stiff upper lip, in other words.”

Her reply was gentle. She was not going to let the jibe draw her back toward anger. “Robb, shall we quarrel over this forever? It's settled, it's finished, and I'll make a home here for us.”

“I want us to be happy here, Ellen. You and I have had our worries almost from the start, and we've come through in one piece. Don't let a mere house divide us.”

The word ‘divide' was a jolt. Down before her were Julie and Penn, coming back from the river. They waved, and their parents waved back. Divide? God, no!

“Julie's thrilled with the horses, two beautiful honey-colored mares. Wait till you see them, Ellen.”

He was cajoling her, begging her to feel some of his joy. And something occurred to her: Had she fully considered that living here might mean as much to him as staying where they were had always meant to her? The thought, piercing, moved her to take his hand and promise him that everything would be just fine.

He put his arms around her, and they stood there watching Penn and Julie climb the hill.

Moving day fell during Halloween week. On the lamppost at the foot of the front walk, Ellen hung the cardboard skeleton. For the last time, she placed her pumpkin heads at the front door beneath the stone tubs in which marigolds had replaced the summer's geraniums. On a table inside the entrance, a huge punch bowl waited, as always, to be filled with sweets. From house to house through the late afternoon and into the early evening, small ghosts and pirates would come, demanding trick or treat. To their delight, she would pretend not to recognize Sally's twin girls, or the Williamses' red-haired boy, children of neighbors and of friends whom she had known all her life.

In the autumn twilight, she walked around the yard
saying good-bye. Here were the birdhouses, vacant now, waiting for new tenants in the spring. Here were her mother's peonies. There stood the sovereign beech, towering twice the height of the house. It was fashionable wit these days to speak of “tree-huggers,” but Ellen was one, nevertheless. And she broke off a stalk of leaves to press and keep.

Then with calm demeanor, she returned to the last chores that must be finished before the move. Robb's wish was fulfilled, and Julie was happy. She herself had made her peace. But she had an odd feeling, as though a door had unexpectedly clicked shut in a silent room. It was not merely that they were leaving here. It was something larger, a termination.

T
he grass beneath Robb's feet as he took his early walk was still wet from an all-night rain, but the early May sunshine was strong, and by late morning when Julie would be ready, the bridle paths would be dry.

Robb's Julie! Now that she was away at college in the north, the waiting time between her vacations passed too slowly: from mid-winter to spring break, from summer job's end to August, and then all around the calendar longing for her return, as one longs for a cold drink, a warm fire, or a cool breeze, all the refreshments of life. The man who got Julie would be a lucky one, and whoever he was, he had better treat her right, Robb thought fiercely. At the same time he was amused at himself for being like every other father of a daughter, forgetting what he himself has done to another man's daughter.

The taste of shame came to his mouth. True, the
taste was not as strong as it had been last year when—God knows why—he'd had that little “affair,” the last thing he had ever intended to do with his life. It began at a party, on one of those overnight trips to look at property. Somebody had brought some girls in. He'd had a few drinks, not many, because he'd never had any real craving for liquor. But it is not always easy to stand aside when everyone else is partaking of the fun.

If it had stopped there, fun was all it would have been, over and forgotten with nobody hurt and nobody the wiser. The girl however—let her be remembered, if at all, as “the girl,” with her name blanked out—wanted otherwise. She had called him at his office, which was not far from where she worked, and they had had dinner one night.

“We had a good time, didn't we?” she said.

Yes, they had.

“Next time, cold sober, it will be even better, I promise.”

“You've got your nerve.” He had laughed, been flattered, and also in an odd way, curious. For she had reminded him of Lily in a fashion: snub-nosed, frail as a bird, all pink-and-white.

This was the curiosity: He almost never thought about Lily! In those rare moments when she crossed his mind, he always remarked how rare those moments were. And now here was this girl.

Well, well, so it happened. Each time he went to her he vowed it would be the last, and then, after a week or two without seeing her he went back and was always regretful. The whole business made no sense. It was
underhanded, and he wanted his life to be straightforward. Devoutly he wished he had never gotten involved with her; devoutly he wished he knew how to release himself from what was threatening to become a tight relationship. He did not understand how he could be doing this to Ellen.

It was Ellen, finally, who had released him from it. Now, walking around his grounds with his hands in his pockets, he had an awful, unforgettable vision of her face when she discovered it. He wished there was a sponge that could wipe one's mind clear of such memories. Her tears and her rage, her baffled, utter astonishment! And after the lashing storm, in a dead calm had come the searching questions, searching of him and of herself: Why, Robb? Is there any way I have failed you? Tell me honestly if I have, and how.

Of course she hadn't and he had told her so, explaining as best a man can how these things happen. It is an accident while failing to watch your step: you fall into a pit and have a hard time climbing back out. It was a lame enough explanation, yet not entirely untrue. There was enough written about adultery: one of the hazards of being a male animal, you might say, if you had a liking for bitter jokes.

In the end, the hard-won end, they had made their peace. He, having given his heartfelt, profound apologies, received forgiveness and the hateful affair was never mentioned again. It was dead and buried. Life returned to normalcy. And so most of his thoughts on this fine morning were good ones.

Of course, there was always the old sorrow about
Penn, but as long as Penn himself was not sad, you had to be satisfied. It was a godsend that they had been able to find a fine boy like Rusty who could come every day from the village to be his companion. And if the time should arrive—well, there was a good place all ready, thanks to Dick Devlin, a good home, all paid for, all signed and sealed.

Ellen was at work again at her writing and drawing. He was glad about that. She was a very talented woman and must not waste her talent. Yes, it did rankle a little that, because of her work, she had not spent enough time on this house. Some of the rooms were as barely furnished as if the family had moved in only yesterday. But he would not quibble about it. He knew very well that Ellen did not love the house, but she never reminded him, as many women would, that it had not been her choice. Then perhaps she had finally become accustomed to it? He didn't know. He never asked her.

Still, he reflected now, there were occasional moments when he wanted to. So much these days was written about “communication”! He had never given the subject much thought; when people loved each other, you would expect “communication” to come naturally. Yet sometimes, especially this last winter during those evenings when the cold rain seemed endless, strange unspoken questions came to the tip of his tongue. Where has the passion gone? The sweetness? It is all so pleasant. It is all so dutiful.

But what do you want, Robb? Your questions are naive. Things change with time. Don't you know that? It's the same for everybody, so stop your petty search
for trouble where there is none. As things go in this world, you have nothing to worry about.

Julie was walking toward the stable. “Hi, Dad. Ready?” she called. “The ladies are waiting.”

Mounting Duchess and My Lady, the golden beauties, they started downhill toward the riverfront path. In places where it narrowed, Julie rode ahead and Robb had the pleasure of watching her perfect posture, her elegant jacket and black curls, Ellen's curls, under the riding cap. Child of privilege, he thought. Yes, give her everything he hadn't had. That's only what everybody wants to do, isn't it? Sad to say, though, everybody can't do it.

If my parents could see where I live now! I used to ride Joey, the farm horse, imaging myself as Lawrence of Arabia on an Arab thoroughbred.

“Why are you laughing?” asked Julie as he came alongside.

He told her. “I've loved horses all my life,” he said. “That reminds me. I've brought something for you. I meant to keep it as a surprise for your birthday, but that's too long to wait. I'm going to give it to you before you go back to college tomorrow morning.”

In one of those shiny magazines filled with expensive articles to buy, he had seen a pair of antique crystal horses. They were treasures that she would keep forever. He loved being able to give fine things.

“What are you going to give Mom for her birthday?”

“I don't know. Have you any ideas?”

“Not really, but I'll think and tell you.”

“She never wants anything.”

“She always says she has everything.”

“Well, now she's happy in her work again. If you love your work, maybe you do have everything.”

The remark was sententious, and he knew it was. But apparently Julie did not think so, because she replied enthusiastically.

“Even when I was very young, I always felt that about you, Dad. I felt that you were really enjoying yourself when you stood up to speak in court. I didn't understand a lot of what you said, but I knew you loved it.”

When she was very young! And she barely nineteen!

“I've definitely decided what I want to do with my life. Of course, you already know it's journalism. That's nothing new. But what I'm interested in now is the environment. I want to be an investigative journalist who goes after people who damage the world. Who let the cities go to ruin and tear up the countryside and poison the air and the water, who wipe out the animals, and all that. You know what I mean, Dad. You've said it yourself. And I'm going to do it.”

Crusading youth, he thought, and was moved by her purity and fervor.

Rounding a wide curve, they came to a place where he always liked to pause. From here you could look up the hill to where the house stood in the perfect spot below the crest, alone and proud.

“I thought they were going to build many more houses on this land,” Julie observed.

“They were, but the area hasn't yet caught people's imagination.”

“It's beautiful,” she said.

To the left of the grassy slope marched the burgeoning woods. To the right the ground fell away to where, out of their present sight, lay acres of orchard, pasture, and corn.

“It's too beautiful to clutter it up with houses, I think. Don't you? Even our house spoils it.”

“Well, you can't keep the countryside empty forever.”

“We don't have to gobble it all up, either. I told you I'm going to fight for the environment.”

“Good for you. I'm on your side.”

The horses stamped, wanting to move on, and they proceeded at a trot along the path.

Robb was silent. What would be bad about buying up the whole piece of land? A large house deserved a spacious setting. From the very first sight of this place, he had thought of it as a family home for the generations. Why not?

As things stood, Devlin and his crew might well be glad to get it off their hands. It was idle land, if only temporarily so, but men like those didn't like to hold anything unprofitable, even for a short time. It might be stretching things, but this land was worth a stretch, and he could make it.

It is fantastic, literally like a dream, the way money, once you get started, increases. You borrow, you buy, you sell, you blend your profits and your borrowings, you stay ahead, and you salt away.

“What would you say if I were to buy this land?” he asked.

He had amazed her. “Buy it, Dad? The whole thing? Wouldn't it cost a fortune?”

“Depends what you call a fortune. I believe I can do it.”

“Oh, it would be gorgeous! But—” And she turned in the saddle, questioning him with her soft green eyes. “But are we so rich, Dad?”

“Not rich, but comfortable.”

The miracle of his life! His wealth, he had every reason to believe, was greater than that of all the Fowler firm's partners put together. It made him feel comfortable to be so secure that he could afford to be modest. So he repeated the phrase.

“Not rich, but comfortable.”

And, with Duchess and My Lady, they rode on through the fragrant morning.

From her desk, Ellen had a long view. When she saw the horses come away from the river path, she laid down her drawing pencil and walked to the window. It would make a painting, something that Winslow Homer would have done. The colors were striking: the apple green of new grass, the blond horses, and Julie's red jacket.

Ruefully, she reminded herself that this was Julie's last day of vacation. Tomorrow the house would return to its hollow quiet. Most of the time, she could actually hear that quiet, so that Penn's often raucous voice, or
the sounds of Mrs. Vernon's friendly chat with the mailman came as a shock to the ear.

When she thought of Mrs. Vernon, who after all these years still retained her titled widowhood, she thought of the word “blessing.” This “blessing” had not considered for even one moment a departure from the family that she considered her own. So here she was, enjoying after her fashion a generous salary, her own three-room suite, and Rusty's help with Penn.

“It does my heart good to see you doing your work again,” she had remarked yesterday. “I was about to give up hope that you'd ever get back to it. Whatever made you?”