The Auerbach Will (18 page)

“I was just wondering—was any of this ever in the papers?”

“Oh, I think so. Years ago, I think there was something. Then he changed his name, and went away.”

“As a newspaper woman, I should think that might make what we call a hot story—one of the original investors in Eaton and Cromwell being Arthur Litton.”

“Do you think so, Joan? It was years and years ago, and your father had the good sense to get him out of the company the minute he showed his true colors. Your father and Charles.”

“What caused the split?”

“That,” says Essie firmly, “is something that I do not choose to talk about. Suffice to say he did something to try to hurt us—to hurt all of us. It had nothing to do with the company. It was personal. That's all I have to say about it. Believe me, you'll be grateful that I'm not telling you more.”

“I was thinking of getting in touch with him,” Joan says.

Sitting forward in her chair, with her glass in her hand, Essie says, “That would be very unwise. Abe may be my brother, but he is also a very dangerous man. I don't know what purpose could be served by your getting in touch with him, but I can tell you this—if you do, you will heartily regret it. That I can promise you. The man is dangerous. He hurt me badly. He can also hurt you.”

“Just an idle thought,” Joan says. “Renewing old family ties.”

“Don't do it. Unless you want more trouble than you can imagine.”

“She knows about Arthur Litton, Charles,” Essie says when she reaches him on the telephone.

“Ah. The investigative reporter, I suppose. Well, what did she say about him?”

“Vaguely threatening. Suggesting that it might make a story for the paper—her paper, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Would it hurt the company if something like that came out at this point?” she asks. “Could it hurt you—or Josh?”

“Mildly embarrassing, perhaps. Mildly. Even though everything important that happened at Eaton happened long after he left.”

“She also says she's broke.”

“Naturally.”

“Do you believe her, Charles?”

“I just don't know.”

“She wants half a million.”

“And you told her?”

“I told her no.”

“Good girl.” And then, “All alone on Christmas Eve, Essie?”

“Josh and Katie are coming by a little later. Why don't you come too, Charles, if you're free?”

“I'd like that,” he says.

“Good. The servants are gone for the evening, but we'll rustle up something. We'll raid the icebox. There's cold chicken. We'll have cold chicken and champagne. We'll get drunk.”

While waiting for Charles and the others, Essie takes down a slim volume from a library shelf, and opens it to a page she knows by heart. The book is Prince's yearbook from Lawrenceville, and it is the only photograph of Prince that her husband did not destroy that terrible afternoon. He could not destroy this, because Essie, longing for some tangible memory, had later thought of the yearbook, and had ordered it sent to her privately from the school. In the blurred photograph, Prince's young face looks almost wistful, though the corners of his mouth are turned up as though at the beginning of a smile. And he is squinting slightly, as though the sunlight on the dormitory steps where he stands with his classmates were too strong for his eyes. Once, years ago, Josh had said to her, “Of course I never knew Prince, but I know he was the oldest, and Joan and the others told me what happened.”

“Hush. Your father doesn't want us to talk of him.”

“But he must have been special to you, being the first.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Will I ever be that special to you, Mother, being the last?”

“Oh, yes, always special to me, Josh. All of you are special, but you are the most special because you are the most like him.”

“Well, how did it go?” Mogie asks her.

“I asked for half a million, and came out with a blue cashmere sweater.”

“What about Arthur Litton?”

“She was rather secretive. Something she doesn't want me to know. I must say she didn't seem too concerned about what I've found out.”

“That's why we've got to find out more.”

“Yes. I've got to find out if there was some kind of payoff, or cover-up. If I could only get at her books. But how can I do that? Mary Farrell keeps everything guarded like a hawk.”

“Well, on that score I happen to know something that you don't,” he says.

“What's that?”

“Mother and Mary Farrell are going to the opera next Thursday night. You could think up some excuse for dropping by the apartment. I'm sure Yoki would let you in.”

The following Friday morning, Mary Farrell says to Essie, “Somebody's been in my desk, Mrs. A.”

“Why? Is something missing?”

“No. Nothing's missing. Everything's in perfect order.”

“Then what makes you think—?”

“It's like a sixth sense. I sense it, Mrs. A.”

“Perhaps one of the maids, dusting.”

“The maids have strict instructions never to touch my desk.”

“It must be your Irish imagination, Mary,” Essie says.

Later, Mary Farrell says to Yoki, the little Japanese butler, “Did anyone come in to the apartment last night, Yoki?”

He shakes his head vigorously. “'Cept Miss Joan. She came by. She looking for gloves left here other night.”

“How long was she here?”

He shrugged. “Don't know. I go back to kitchen. Not see her leave.”

“Thank you, Yoki.”

Now Mary Farrell is faced with a moral and political and tactical dilemma of considerable proportions. She knows that Mrs. A would not take kindly to the idea of Joan rummaging through her desk and files, and she knows that Joan and Mrs. A do not always see eye to eye on every matter. On the other hand, she also knows that Joan is her employer's daughter, and that in a number of battles in the past Mrs. A has wound up coming to Joan's defense, particularly when she feels Joan may have been wronged. It is a natural, motherly reaction, and a demonstration of the proverbial truth that blood is thicker than water or perhaps any other substance. The lioness will spring to defend her cub, even when it is in the wrong. And of course it is also possible that Mrs. A, on learning of Mary Farrell's suspicions, will fly into a rage at Joan. And it is certainly not Mary Farrell's wish to do anything that will aggravate the frictions that already exist between mother and daughter.

And so, after weighing the matter in her mind for most of the afternoon, whether or not to bring this up, and recalling several occasions when she has seen her employer react like a cornered lioness, Mary Farrell finally decides not to tell Mrs. A what she suspects.

Nine

Years later, when Jacob Auerbach would be asked, as he often was, what he considered to be the secret of his success—how, from almost nothing, he had built Eaton & Cromwell & Company into one of the largest corporations in the world, headquartered in Chicago but with sales outlets in more than two hundred cities in the United States and abroad—he would routinely answer, “Hard work, trust in God, and my faith that the customer must always be satisfied with the quality of the merchandise he or she gets. Hence, our motto: Our Customer Is Our Only Boss.” Essie, of course, would recall certain other factors, including the early contribution of her brother, Abe, which was somewhat greater than the company now chooses to remember.

From the little house at 5269 Grand Boulevard which they had rented—Essie was determined not to dip into the wedding money, and that there would be enough left over at the end of each month to send Uncle Sol a check for the interest on the loan—Jake would write his letters, in careful longhand, to his uncles when he came home from the store at night.

December 2, 1907

Dear Uncle Sol:

I hope you are not disappointed with the November sales figures. We are really just getting started, and I know you cautioned me not to expect dramatic sales during our first months. Also, the heating bill ran high last month ($24.20) because of the very cold weather. It seems it can get much colder here than in New York in winter, since we are more northerly
…

We are looking forward to a good Christmas season, though retailers here are hoping that there will not be too much snow, which will keep away trade. So far, no snow, just cold. Keep your fingers crossed
.

Every day, it seems, a few more customers come into the store …

Esther joins me in love to all the Family
.

Yours sincerely
,

Jacob

And Essie would write her own letters home, which Minna Litsky would save, in a packet tied with string, in a dresser drawer.

(undated)

Dearest Mama:

What a strange city Chicago is. It is on a huge lake so wide that you cannot see across to the other side, and when the wind blows there are waves, just like the sea. But the water is fresh, and the lake provides our drinking water. There is a big beach, and in the summer people walk straight from the city streets onto the beach! The city is on flat land, and so the streets are very straight, with not so many bends as some of the streets in New York. I am having an easy time of it, learning my way around.…

The house Jake found for us is very nice. It is built of brick and is in what is called the bungalow style, as are most of the other houses on the street. On the first floor is a living room, with a corner for a dining table at the end. Then there is a cozy kitchen with a gas stove. Upstairs there are two bedrooms (one small, one larger) and a bathroom, and an attic space which could be turned into another bedroom. There is a nice yard in front, and a smaller one in back, where when spring comes Jake has promised to help me start a vegetable garden. We were very lucky to find this house for $37.50 a month. The rents here seem much lower than in New York, though the heating costs are high. We have not bought much furniture yet, just the essentials.…

The neighbors seem very nice, though I have not had time to meet too many of them yet. One lady who lives next door, Mrs. Nielsen, brought us a fruit cake when we moved in. I think there are not too many Jews here, but there are many Negroes. They work with the railroads.…

Jake works very hard at the store, six days a week, and sometimes until very late at night. Here it is necessary to remain open on the Sabbath, because all the competition does. I sometimes go in to help him, particularly at the end of the month when there are accounts to do and bills to be sent out
.

Mama dear, it was not necessary for you to send me money, though I appreciate the thought. I miss you all, and wish I could be with you all this Hanukkah Season, but this is Jake's busiest time.…

Give Abe a kiss, and tell him to study hard.… Give Papa a kiss and tell him it is from me.…

She did not tell her mother that she, too, often worked at the store with Jake on Saturdays, or that she was not keeping kosher. But she had found, at the shops in her neighborhood at least, that most kosher items were simply not available.

January 3, 1908

Dear Uncle Sol:

I think we should be pleased with the December figures, considering the fact that the blizzard we had on December 15, which you may have read about, made the streets all but impassable, and four or five good Christmas-shopping days were lost. All retailers here felt it, not just me.…

I think we should do well with the new foulard neck scarves.…

Yours sincerely
,

Jake

January 19, 1908

Dear Uncle Sol:

A torrential downpour yesterday washed away most of the snow, and in half an hour I sold every umbrella in the store! And I couldn't find a single supplier in the city who had more stock! If I had had more stock myself, I think I could have sold at least 50 more! But who can predict the weather?

One of the problems here, as I see it, is the tremendous loyalty Chicago customers have to the older established stores
—
Marshall Field's and Carson's, etc., etc. A couple of typical situations are these: A customer will come in and say, “I've looked all through Field's and can't find what I want
—
lets see what you have.” Or, conversely, if a customer can't find exactly what he wants here, he'll say, “Oh, Field's will have it certainly.” Breaking down that loyalty to Field's, etc. is turning out to be our biggest battle
.…

I'm hoping to do well with the seersucker and alpaca suits for spring and summer, but when I suggested to one customer that the suit might look well set off by one of our white piqué vests and a straw boater, he said it looked “too sissy.” Chicago is a very He-man sort of town
.

Yours sincerely
,

Jake

Putting down his pen wearily after one of these late-night letter-writing sessions, Jake said, “I wish I could afford someone who could type these things.”

“I can type,” Essie said. “I learned in school. I could type your letters for you—all I'd need is a machine. I'll be your helper!”

The next night, he brought home a typewriter for her. He started off by dictating his letters and orders to her, but within a few days the dictation was no longer necessary. All he had to do was tell her what he wished to say, and she would compose the letters for him.

New York City

March 15, 1908

Dear Nephew:

Among the expense items for February, ult., I came across an item in the amount of $29.50 for the purchase of a typewriting machine. Are you quite sure this purchase was strictly necessary?

“Christ!” said Jake, flinging down the letter. “Doesn't he realize the bargain he's getting? A free assistant? And all the time it saves me? All for a rotten thirty dollars!”