Kaleidoscope (11 page)

He gulped, trying to clear his head, and wishing he had waited till morning. He had had too much to drink by the time she came home, and he was afraid that his arguments wouldn't be convincing. “Sam Walker was my best friend. He saved my life during the war … those children are not strangers to us, Marjorie, even if you'd like to think so.”

“But do you have any idea of the responsibility involved in having
one
child, let alone
three
?”

“Hilary is like a mother to them. She'd make everything easy for you, Marjorie. Truly.” He felt as though he were sixteen again, begging his mother for a car, and not winning the battle either. “And I've always wanted children. You were the one who decided you couldn't handle kids and a career …” He tried to look at her reproachfully but she seemed not to care. She had no guilt, only righteous indignation.

“I will
not
take on three children. We don't have the space, the time, the life-style. You're as busy as I am. And besides, raising three girls would cost a fortune. No! Just forget it, Arthur. Put them in an institution.” And the tragedy, as Arthur listened to her get ready for bed, was that she meant it.

He tried again, the next morning over breakfast, but to no avail. Her mind was made up, and he didn't have the strength, or the ingenuity, to change it.

“I don't want children of my own, why would I want someone else's? And
theirs
! My God, Arthur, I always knew you were blind but I never thought you were stupid. The man is a murderer, not to mention everything else, can you imagine what traits those children will inherit? And their mother …” Arthur looked ominous as she got started again, but she was too involved in her own speech to notice. “She always looked like a French whore to me. God only knows what she did over there during the war before she caught Sam Walker.”

“That's enough, Marjorie. You don't know what you're talking about. I was there when Sam met her.”

“In a bordello?” she asked viciously and he suddenly wanted to slap her. But there was no point. She
had won. He was not going to be able to take in Sam's children.

“I won't discuss brothels with you, Marjorie, and I can tell you for certain that Solange Walker was never in one. I'm just sorry you're not willing to be more compassionate about this, Marjorie. It disappoints me greatly.” But she didn't give a damn. She left for work without saying another word to Arthur.

As far as she was concerned, it was his problem. And it was. Their parents were his closest friends. He was Hilary's godfather. Those children weren't strangers to him, no matter what Marjorie wished. They were flesh and blood, and he loved them.

And Sam and Solange had loved them too. It was desperately important to Arthur that they not lose a sense of that, or feel that they were being abandoned. The idea of putting them up for adoption sounded barbaric to him, but he just didn't know what else to do with them. And things got even more complicated the following week when both the maid and the nurse announced that they were leaving. They had stayed long enough in terrible conditions. They both seemed outraged by the scandal that had been foisted on
them
and had remarkably little compassion for the children. And for Arthur, it meant finding new people to care for them, which seemed even more complicated now. Finally, by week's end, he took out the name Sam had given him, of his sister. Eileen Jones. He wondered if he would even find her in Boston. But he thought that if he did, perhaps he could induce her to take care of them for a while. Then he could let the apartment on Sutton Place go, and it would save them a great deal of money. They were almost out of funds anyway. But having them stay with their aunt would give Arthur
some time to make other arrangements, or convince Marjorie that they had to take them. Either way, he needed time, and having them stay with Sam's sister would give him the breather he needed. More than anything he wanted to convince Marjorie that what he wanted was right, and not crazy, as she kept insisting. It required some adjustments, to be sure, but they were three little human beings, and well worth adjusting for, even if she didn't think so. But then what? And if they didn't take them in, who on earth would? That was what worried Arthur.

But first he had to find their aunt, and see if she would take them, even if only for the summer. She couldn't be as bad as Sam said. She was his sister after all, and blood was thicker than water. He had his secretary call Boston information, and they finally turned up a Jack and Eileen Jones in Charlestown, a suburb which boasted a naval yard, and which his secretary told him was right on the water. It sounded perfect for a little summer holiday, and Arthur called her up without preamble. She sounded stunned to hear from Arthur, and she said she had read about the trial, and her brother's subsequent suicide in the papers. She didn't sound particularly emotional about his death, and she asked Arthur bluntly if Sam had left any money.

“Not a great deal, I'm afraid, which is why I'm calling.” He decided to get right to the point and see if she would help him. He had nowhere else to turn now. “As you may know, Sam and Solange had three little girls, Hilary, Alexandra and Megan, and for the moment, there is literally no one to take them. I want to speak to you about the possibility of … to see if
you might be interested in giving them a home, temporarily or permanently, whichever suits you.”

There was a stunned silence at the other end. And then her sharp voice that had none of the polish of her brother's. “Holy shit. Are you kidding, mister? Three kids? I don't even have kids of my own. Why would I want Sam's three brats?”

“Because they need you. If you just kept them for the summer, it would give me time to find another suitable home for them. But for the moment, they have nowhere to go.” He tried to appeal to her sympathies, but another thought had occurred to Eileen Jones.

“Will you pay me to take them in?”

Arthur paused, but only for a beat. “I can certainly give you enough money to pay for their needs while they're with you.”

“That isn't what I meant, but I'll take that too.”

“I see.” Arthur could see why Sam wasn't fond of her, but there was no one else for him to turn to. “Would three hundred dollars do as a fee for you, Mrs. Jones? A hundred for each child?”

“For how long?” She sounded suspicious of him. Suspicious and greedy.

“Until I find a home for them … a few weeks, a month, perhaps the summer.”

“No more than that. I'm not runnin' an orphanage up here, you know. And my husband won't like it.” But she knew he'd like the three hundred dollars, and she was hoping they could squeeze some more out of Arthur.

“Do you have room for them, Mrs. Jones?”

“I got a spare room. Two of them can sleep in one bed, and we'll figure something out for the other one.”

“That would be Megan. She'll need a crib. She's just over a year old.” He wanted to ask her if she knew how to take care of a baby. He wanted to ask a lot of things, but he didn't dare. He had no choice. He just had to trust that she'd do the best she could, for Sam's sake. And the children were so adorable, he was sure she'd fall in love with them the minute she saw them.

But it was something less than love at first sight when Arthur drove the three girls to Charlestown. He had explained to Hilary the day before that they were going to stay with their aunt Eileen for the summer. He told the maid to pack all their things, and explained quietly that she and the nurse would be free to leave after the girls left in the morning. He suggested that Hilary and Alexandra take their favorite toys. And he did not tell anyone that he would be closing the apartment and selling everything as soon as the children had left it. They would be better off with whatever meager amount he could eke from the sale of the furniture, and not having their funds depleted by paying rent for a duplex on Sutton Place. Sam's debts were still astronomical, and there just was no money coming in from anywhere for them. He was glad to be getting rid of the apartment and the two servants.

Hilary had eyed him suspiciously when he told them about the trip to Boston. Much of her affection for him seemed to have cooled since her mother's death, but it was difficult to tell if that was just her way of expressing pain, or due to some other reason.

“Why are you sending us away?”

“Because it'll be nicer for you there than it is here. Your aunt lives near the water in Boston. It'll be cooler, if nothing else, and you can't just sit here in New York all summer, Hilary.”

“But we're coming back, right?”

“Of course you are.” He felt a wave of guilt and terror wash over him. What if she could see that he was lying?

“Then why did you tell Millie to pack all our things?”

“Because I thought you might need them. Now, don't be unreasonable, Hilary. It'll be nice for all of you to get to know your father's sister.”

Hilary was standing very quietly in the center of the room, in a yellow organdy dress with white piqué trim, her shining black hair like Sam's perfectly combed into two smooth braids, her big green eyes as wise as Solange's had been, her little white anklets immaculate, and her patent leather Mary Janes shined to perfection. And she studied him, as though she knew he were hiding something from her. In a way, she frightened him, she was so knowing and so cool, and so fiercely protective of her sisters. She had taken the news of her father's suicide stoically. She had barely cried, and she had comforted Alexandra, and explained that Daddy had gone to heaven to be with Mommy. It all seemed terribly hard for Alexandra to understand, she was only five after all, but Hilary made everything easier for her, as she did for all of them. It was as though Solange had left her there to care for all of them in her absence.

“Why didn't we ever meet Aunt Eileen before? Didn't my Daddy like her?” She was perceptive just as Solange had been, and she didn't take any nonsense. The way her eyes flashed over him reminded him so much of her mother.

“I don't think they were close, Hilary, but that doesn't mean she's not a nice person.”

Hilary nodded, she was willing to suspend judgment. Temporarily. But it was easy to see what she thought when they arrived in Charlestown.

The house was a small frame house on a dark street, with shutters that had fallen off in the bitter winds of the previous winters. The paint was peeling everywhere, the yard was overgrown with weeds, and two of the front steps were broken. It was a less than auspicious welcome, as Hilary walked up the steps, holding Alexandra's hand, and Arthur carried the baby. The nurse had come with them, for the trip, but she was returning to New York with Arthur.

He rang the doorbell ineffectively, and finally realized that it, too, was broken. And then he knocked hard on the window. He could feel Hilary's eyes on him and her silent question, asking him why they had come here. He didn't dare look at her now, he couldn't have borne to see Solange's eyes looking up at him, filled with silent reproach and unspent fury.

“Yeah?” The door opened finally, and a woman with blond stringy hair yanked the door open wearing a frayed dirty bathrobe. “What do
you
want?” She stared at the crew on the front steps with obvious annoyance, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth, her eye squinting shut to defend itself from the smoke wafting up, and then she realized who they were. She smiled uncomfortably then, and for a fraction of an instant, she looked like Sam, but barely. One had to be looking for the resemblance.

“Mrs. Jones?” Arthur's heart was sinking slowly to his feet, and he felt no better as they walked into the living room. There was a broken couch, three battered chairs with the stuffing pouring out, a coffee table that had seen better days, and a small Formica dinette set,
with a television blaring in the distance. Inside, the house looked even worse than it did outside. Eileen Jones apparently did not spend a great deal of time keeping house for her husband.

It was a Saturday afternoon and there was a baseball game blaring on the radio, at the same time as Gabby Hayes came on the TV. The noise was deafening, and the children looked stunned by it. Everyone stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room, looking at each other.

“Want a beer?” She looked at Arthur, ignoring the children. And it was difficult to believe that this was Sam Walker's sister. He had been so impeccably groomed, such a handsome man, he had had such presence and power and magnetism about him. One had felt instantly drawn to Sam, and together with Solange they had made a dazzling couple. But this woman was a parody of all that was cheap and beaten and ugly. She looked well beyond her thirty-nine years, and the ravages of booze had taken their toll on her early. She might have been attractive once, but anything pleasant in her looks was long gone. She only looked hard and bitter and ugly. Her dyed hair was thin and dirty and unkempt, cut just below her ears, and hanging limp and greasy. She had Sam's brilliant blue eyes, but there was a dullness to them, with terrible bags beneath them from excessive drinking. Her skin was sallow, and her waist was thickened by beer, while her legs looked like two little toothpicks. She was totally foreign to everything the girls had ever seen, and Arthur realized that Hilary was staring at her in shock and horror.

“This is Hilary.” He tried to encourage her forward to shake the woman's hand, but she wouldn't budge.
“And Alexandra,” who sniffed the stale beer that seemed to permeate the air, and made a face as she looked up at Hilary's obvious disapproval, “and Megan.” He indicated the baby, who glanced at the battered blonde with wide eyes. She was the only one who didn't seem worried by her summer home or her hostess. The other two looked terrified, and Hilary had to fight back tears when she saw the room they were to be given to sleep in. Eileen Jones walked them back to it without ceremony, waved in the direction of the sagging, narrow bed that stood unmade in one corner. The room itself was a narrow cell without windows, barely big enough for the bed it held, with a crib folded against one wall that looked as though she had fished it out of someone else's garbage, which is precisely where Eileen had found it, shortly after Arthur had called her.