Homesick (31 page)

“They’re not all from him,” said Mr. Stutz quietly. “I put one or two in myself.”

This news embarrassed Vera. “I never,” she said. “What am I going to do? I – Daniel and I – never thought to get you a thing.”

“What’s to get the man who’s got everything?” He laughed artificially to signal he was making a joke. There was an awkwardness in his manner that Vera hadn’t seen before. As a way of offering him some relief she began to sort through the presents.

“This is from you then?” she said, smiling and holding up a package.

“What does it say?” Mr. Stutz wanted to hear her read the tag aloud.

“ ‘To Mrs. Vera Miller from H. Stutz.’ ”

“That’s me all right.”

“H. Stutz,” said Vera, trying to peel away the Scotch tape with her fingernail so as not to rip the paper. “Isn’t that strange? I don’t know your first name. What’s the H stand for?”

“Herman. Herman is my Christian name.”

Wouldn’t you suspect? thought Vera. What she said was, “A sensible name. It suits you, Mr. Stutz, Herman does. Take a chair, Herman, and as soon as I’ve got this present unwrapped we’ll have us a cup of coffee.”

When the paper decorated with jolly Santa Clauses was finally removed, a carton of cigarettes was disclosed. “Isn’t this nice,” said Vera. “My brand, too. Millbank. Thank you, Mr. Stutz.”

“I made a point of watching what you smoked,” said Mr. Stutz.

“I appreciate it,” Vera assured him, pouring coffee. “I just feel awful we didn’t shop for you.”

The topic of presents and purchases exhausted, conversation lapsed. In the silence, Daniel’s axe could be heard ringing in the frozen air. Looking ill at ease, Mr. Stutz blew energetically into his coffee mug. Vera noticed that in the warmth of the kitchen his nose had begun to run, a drop hung trembling on its tip, prompting her to turn her eyes away. When she did, Mr. Stutz cleared his throat and launched into what he had come to say. “You know, Mrs. Miller, your father can’t understand what all this is about – this packing up and leaving him.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Vera, struggling to appear calm, reasonable. “I must say that doesn’t surprise me in the least. The only thing my father’s ever been able to understand is what matters to him. Did you ever notice that about him, Mr. Stutz? Nothing exists unless it’s of some use to him. Do you know when I figured that out? I must have been sixteen, just after my mother died. He seemed to think that my brother and I were there just to make him feel better about the situation. One servant and one pet, you might say. He couldn’t think of anyone but himself. My father’s a very selfish man, Mr. Stutz.”

“He’s always treated me fair,” observed Mr. Stutz.

“And why should he have any trouble treating you fair?” challenged Vera. “When were the two of you ever at cross purposes? Never.”

Mr. Stutz frowned. “I wouldn’t know about that. I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would,” said Vera, breaking open her carton of Millbanks and lighting herself a cigarette. “I know all about my father and cross purposes. We wrote the book on that. It was because he always assumed the choices were his to make. Back then, when I was sixteen, I wanted to be somebody. Maybe it’s true I wasn’t exactly sure what – what kid of sixteen does? But
something
, a teacher, a nurse, something.” Vera held up the burning match, blew it out with an angry puff of breath. “That’s how he put me out,” she said to Stutz, “like that. He blew out my fine ideas because
he
knew what was best for me. Best for me was to stick at home and relieve him of the trouble of looking after my brother Earl. I believe he would be surprised if anyone was to point out the difference between good for him and good for me. He thought they were always the same thing.” Vera leaned forward tensely in her chair. “And he hasn’t lost the habit. Do you know what the latest is? He won’t tell me where my brother is. And do you know why he won’t?”

At the mention of Earl Mr. Stutz cast his eyes down to the floor. He shook his head in reply to her question.

“I’ll tell you why,” said Vera with quiet, measured vehemence. “Because he doesn’t think I deserve to know. I lost the
right
to know because I didn’t stay behind to raise Earl the way he thought I should. I wasn’t noble, I didn’t sacrifice, I disappointed. Instead, I went off and joined the Army.” Vera fell back against her chair, smiled ironically. “Desertion, Mr. Stutz. Vera Monkman stands accused of deserting her post, charged by the commanding officer. That’s why I have no claim on my brother. No difference between me and the bad girl who gives up a bastard baby for adoption.
Bad girls lose their rights, didn’t you know?
My father has made up his mind I have no right to Earl because I ran out on him. But I never ran out on Earl. It’s not my brother I was running out on, it was him, the miserable old bugger. Sixteen years old and already I was a housewife. A
housewife
!” Vera burst out indignantly.

For several moments she sat rigid and motionless; then her shoulders relaxed and she resumed speaking in a controlled way. “This is how I thought then, Mr. Stutz. I figured the one he loved had the best chance of surviving him. That was Earl. I think he loved Earl almost as much as he loved himself. All I knew for sure was that Vera wasn’t going to survive him. I had to get out – and I got. But he’s not one to forgive. That’s why he’s keeping me and my brother apart – to punish me.”

Mr. Stutz raised his eyes from the floor. There was a heaviness in his face that suggested a man with a desire for confession. But all he said was, “Your father doesn’t want to punish you.”

“You’re wrong there.”

“No. He wants you and Daniel to come back to his house. On your terms. Everything agreed. He wants to look after the two of you.”

“Not a chance. We’ll never go back to him.”

“Never is a long time, Mrs. Miller.”

“If there was a word longer than never, that’s the word I’d use.”

“If you don’t go back, what will you do?”

“I’ll find a job.”

“For a woman, there are no jobs in Connaught. At least none that aren’t taken. Maybe you could work at the hotel as a waitress, a cook, a barmaid, a chambermaid – but your father owns the hotel.”

“I’ll find something.”

“Maybe you could clean houses. There isn’t very much money in it but it’s something a woman can do. You could clean the lawyer lady’s house, the doctor lady’s house, the druggist lady’s house. Would you like that? Cleaning houses and those ladies being so good as to point out to you the spots you missed?”

“I don’t miss spots.”

Mr. Stutz smiled knowingly. “Mrs. Miller mightn’t miss spots – the cleaning lady always does. It’s a fact of life. You ought to consider that.”

“I’m past considering.”

“Then you better be past pride, too.”

Vera didn’t respond. She was listening to the axe thud on the chopping block.

After a time Mr. Stutz sighed and said, “The old Bluebird Cafe has been empty now for two years. No one could seem to make a go of it after the Chinaman died.”

“And?”

“And did you ever think of going into business for yourself? Two thousand dollars, more or less, would get it operating again. You’re a good cook. You could manage a cafe, I’m sure. Your father claims you’re clever, at any rate.”

“My father never claimed any such thing.”

“You don’t know everything about your father. Your father claims you’re clever. I heard him,” repeated Stutz with emphasis.

“All right, so I’m a genius without two thousand dollars. A lot of good it does me, brains without money.”

“Your father will give you the money if you ask him.”

“What? Give me money to set up in competition with him? The Bluebird’s directly across the street from the hotel and its restaurant.”

“Do you think he cares about competition? When’s the last time he gave a thought to his businesses? He leaves the running of them to me, or they run themselves. Alec’s got enough. If you ask, he’ll set you up.”

“Haven’t you heard a word that I’ve said? You’ve got to be crazy if you think I’d ask. Especially after you’ve sat at this table and heard me say exactly what I think of him. Don’t mistake me for a hypocrite, Mr. Stutz.”

Mr. Stutz took a deep breath, shifted himself on his chair seat. “All right,” he said, “then I’ll lend you the money.”

Vera was so taken aback that she doubted she had heard him correctly. “What’s that? What did you say?” she demanded rudely.

“I’ll lend you two thousand dollars to give The Bluebird a whirl. If you want,” said Mr. Stutz, twisting his neck uncomfortably in his shirt collar.

She was incredulous. “And why in the world would you do that, Mr. Stutz?”

This question only increased Mr. Stutz’s discomfort. “Well, Mrs. Miller,” he said, “you’ve got the boy to look after and I know you’re an honest woman and …” here he broke off, cast around desperately for a conclusion to his speech, and blurted out, “and if Christ was in my shoes, I think he’d give you the money!”

Vera could not restrain a smile. “I never thought of Christ as a money-lender,” she said. “It was the money-lenders he whipped out of the temple, wasn’t it?”

“He wouldn’t have done it if they were doing good,” replied Stutz with a stubborn look.

“So you want to do some good, do you?” Vera teased.

Stutz, deaf to her frivolous tone, nodded his head soberly. “Yes.”

“And what if it gets you in trouble with my father?”

“Why would doing good get me in trouble with Alec?”

“It might seem to him like you were switching sides.”

“There are no such things as sides for me, Mrs. Miller.”

“Come, come, Mr. Stutz, you’re not that innocent.”

“You don’t hurt a man by helping his daughter.”

Vera gave him an appraising look. “The question is: Why do you want to do this, Mr. Stutz? For whose sake are you offering help? His or mine?”

“For everyone’s sake I would like to do good,” said Stutz.

“And that’s it?”

Stutz chose not to answer. The monotonous chop chop chop of the axe striking wood penetrated the kitchen. Mr. Stutz seized the opportunity it presented. “What’s that?” he asked.

Vera did not renounce her suspicions but she allowed them to relax. Stutz could be a deep one, perhaps too deep for her ever to see clear to the bottom of. “It’s Daniel splitting wood,” she said. “He’s been out there forty-five minutes already, but by the sound of it he doesn’t seem to be making much headway.”

“Oh, I thought maybe … you know … we were alone, that Daniel was out with friends.”

Vera said nothing, watched her fingers fiddle with the charred matchstick in the ashtray.

“It’s a chance to be independent,” said Mr. Stutz encouragingly.

“The reason he’s still out there chopping,” said Vera, “is that he doesn’t know how to go about it. Plenty of wasted effort when you don’t have the knack.”

“He must be getting cold. What if I send him in and finish up for him?” suggested Mr. Stutz. “I could split you a woodbox full in no time at all.”

“Yes, maybe he should come in. It wouldn’t do to have him freeze his face.”

Mr. Stutz got up from the table. “Think about it, Mrs. Miller,” he urged, stooping over and pulling on his overshoes.

“And what if I lost your money, Mr. Stutz?” she said playfully, attempting to make light of his proposal so it need not be faced.

Stutz straightened up and considered her question. His deliberation, his grave manner of answering, denied Vera a flippant escape.
In his dumb, fumbling way he made it impossible for her to avoid taking him seriously.

“It’s only money,” he said, “and I’ve got nobody to hurt by losing it. I’ve nobody to leave it to. No wife or anything.”

“But there’s always family. You must have some family.”

“No family,” he said, shaking his head.

“None?”

“None.”

So much for that. Vera struck a match and lit one of Stutz’s Millbanks while she collected and marshalled her thoughts. She couldn’t help being both excited and afraid. The old christer, the old do-gooder meant every word he said. It could be read plainly in his smooth, innocent face. The money was hers for the asking. The only difficulty was that Vera was not much good at asking; she lacked the talent. And the way he had presented it to her, implying that she had no choice but to take his money because it was the only way out for someone in her position, wouldn’t make asking any easier. What Stutz had suggested to her might be God’s unvarnished truth, but Vera didn’t welcome having it brought to her attention. Besides, she knew there was always a choice, even if it was only choosing not to choose. She still had that left to her.

Vera bit at a speck of tobacco clinging to her bottom lip. Stutz stood patiently by the door, waiting. The last word she could recall him saying was “None.” A barren, lonely word. Poor devil, Vera thought. Poor kind devil.

“Do you need kindling?” he asked, resting his hand on the doorknob.

“Pardon?”

“Do you need kindling for the stove?”

“Do I need … yes. Please.”

He nodded and went out.

So what was she going to do? The truth was she didn’t know. Her mouth was dry with the desiring of it and dry with the fearing of it. Over the years she had let the lie of confidence carry her
through most situations. She wasn’t sure she could make that work for her anymore. Too much strength had been used up. Worn down as she was, could she survive disappointment and failure if they came?

Jesus, Vera thought, I don’t need this now, a temptation at this late date. Or maybe she did. Her father had fallen into the accident of success, why couldn’t she? Why not? There had always been more to her than her father had ever guessed at, or that she had had the opportunity to show.

She got to her feet and circled the kitchen. Twice around the room and she resumed her seat, laid down her hands side by side on the tabletop as if they were gloves. Then she took a deep breath and pressed down with her palms as hard as she could. Time passed. Her fingers went white.

Vera had made her decision.

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