Nearly a week after Alice found the photograph, Dillard and she were alone seated opposite from one another in the music room. They’d just finished practicing “A Taste of Honey,” and Dillard told her she’d never sounded better. “You’re going to outshine every alto at the conservatory.”
Alice looked at him and studied the room he’d created. She loved the crisp whiteness of the walls and how his father’s antique instruments glowed against them. She loved how her stool faced Dillard’s chair and how they watched each other while he played the flute and she sang. She’d never shared this kind of intimacy with anyone except her grandpa. She’d miss all this when she went to Boston.
“You know, I’m kind of scared about going away,” she said. “I mean, I know it’s an honor to go to the conservatory, but I’ve never been away from home. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, sweetie, but Boston’s not so far. We’ll see each other more than you think. You might even get sick of me, with all your new college friends.”
“I’ll never get sick of you. Are you sick of your old friends?”
“What old friends?”
“You know, friends you had before you came here.”
“No, not really. I see them sometimes. But you go to new places; you make new friends.” He smiled. “I’m not unhappy to see them, but I’ve never had friends like the friends I have here.”
“That reminds me,” she said. “The other day I was looking for our pitch pipe, and some stuff fell out of the cigar box you keep in the closet. I put everything back, but there was this one photograph I couldn’t help noticing because it fell right next to me. It was of you and a man, older than you. He was laughing, and you were smiling at him. He was wearing a hat just like yours. Or maybe it’s the same one, I don’t know, but anyway…”
Dillard’s smile vanished, and his voice went stiff. “What were you doing snooping through my stuff?”
“I wasn’t snooping. The picture fell by my feet.”
Dillard stood up and turned away from her. “Jesus, I thought of all people I could trust you.”
“You can,” she said, her voice climbing.
“God, Alice, you do not go poking into other people’s business. I swear, I don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry, I really am. I was just…”
“Don’t. There’s nothing more to say.” He stormed out of the room without his cap, and then came back a moment later to retrieve it. “I forgot this. Unless you want to keep it as a piece of evidence,” he said, before leaving again.
The heat of Dillard’s anger scared Alice. She remembered that first dinner when he walked out in the same abrupt manner. Grandma made some crack about him being an escaped convict and leaving a trail of bodies behind him. Everyone thought she was joking then. Now Alice wasn’t so sure. She stayed glued to her chair. Tears stung her eyes. She was terrified that Dillard would never speak to her again.
That Sunday, Reverend Klepper delivered his sermon about Vietnam. He paced back and forth with his hands crossed over his heart before he began. In his early sixties, he was slightly stooped, probably from all those years of towering over people and bending to their size. His thick hair was white, and he’d slimmed down so that his large nose and alpine cheekbones rose more prominently from his pale face. Although his voice occasionally broke when he led the hymns, it had not lost its power to move. He still had that odd way of staring that made every parishioner think he was staring at all of them at the same time.
“The piece of God we all carry within us is goodness and purity,” he began. “I believe that’s how we all begin. But as we age, and life carves its scars onto us, a blackness can creep in that snakes around our hearts, causing us to yield to immoral thoughts and craven temptations. Where there are riches to be had, there is greed. Where there is truth to hide, there are lies. Where there is need for moral rectitude, there is cynicism. In shame or disillusion, we turn away from God just when we need Him the most. Right now, our country is engaged in a war that some say is corrupt, and others swear is necessary. While I am not a military expert, I do know that we are sending our sons, some of whom are members of this parish, to fight a war they didn’t choose. Some are in Vietnam out of obligation, others because they believe they are fighting for the freedom of this country. And then there are those who have no idea why they are there. We have compassion for all these courageous young men, but we have little compassion for those who do not serve yet send these young men off to war with little explanation.” Cora turned to Alice and winked at her. “Their impulses are not pure; their motives are not genuine. They are turning innocent young boys into embittered adults.”
Reverend Klepper went on to talk about these battered souls. “What happens when the darkness lingers, obliterating all hope? Then what are we to do? I’ve thought long and hard about this. I’ve spoken unkind words and had vile thoughts, and Lord knows I have tried to pray them away. And when those prayers go unanswered, I pray for restraint. For the will and courage not to act on my impulses or express my bad thoughts. I pray for God to shine a light on my motivation and for understanding what the impact of my bad behavior might be. Sometimes, it’s the long way around, but in doing so, I turn my darkness into more appropriate actions and purer thoughts. Let us pray that the men who are running this war take a moment for reflection, a moment when they ask themselves, ‘Are my motives pure?’ ‘Are the consequences of my deeds worthy of the wanton cruelty or the anguish they cause others?’ And then let us pray for our young men who are in harm’s way, for the end of unwarranted killing and the taking of something that is not rightfully ours.”
Alice kept her head down but her eyes on Dillard, who had not acknowledged her since Thursday. She searched his face for traces of a reaction to Reverend Klepper’s words but saw none. She wondered what blackness was snaking around his heart that caused him to be so cruel to her. She asked herself what kind of God would tolerate unwarranted killing and cruelty. In all her years of going to church, it was the first time Alice allowed the thought that church didn’t have all the answers. There were things in life that couldn’t be resolved simply by hymns and prayers.
When the service was over, Alice told her mother and Dillard that she had to talk with Reverend Klepper about choir, and could she take Dillard’s place in their usual Sunday walk? “Sure,” said Emilia Mae. “We’ll meet you at home.” Dillard nodded and didn’t meet Alice’s eyes.
Reverend Klepper and Cora finished greeting the last parishioner when Alice came forward. “You’ve got me today instead of Dillard. Do you have a moment?”
“For you,” he said, “I have all the time in the world. Come, let’s the three of us walk together.”
Alice wasted no time in getting to the point. She detailed the confrontation with Dillard and how he’d gotten so frighteningly angry.
“You know, Alice, maybe there are some things Dillard needs to keep to himself,” said Reverend Klepper.
“Secrets.”
“Call them what you will, but probably everyone has something that they keep private because it would hurt other people or maybe it’s too personal to share. You can never really know.”
Reverend Klepper hugged his wife around the waist and looked up at the sky.
Dillard tried to keep his distance from Alice the following week, just as a heat wave blanketed town. The coolest place in the house was the music room, where both of them took refuge. It made no sense for Alice to sing one song while Dillard played another, so they were forced to communicate through their music. Alice had learned the lyrics to the Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows,” and Dillard was trying it out on the flute. Before they played together, they’d have to discuss the key and tempo and what style they’d play it in. For the next week, the Beach Boys were the extent of their conversation.
On Friday night, after they finished dinner, Dillard and Alice cleared the table while Emilia Mae washed the dishes. When she finished, Emilia Mae looked at her watch and said, “I hope you don’t mind if I disappear for a few hours. I told Nina Tyler I’d babysit while she and Charlie went to a movie.” At the mention of Nina Tyler, Dillard raised his eyebrows and said, “No problem. I was thinking of taking one of my head-clearing walks tonight.” Both looked at Alice, and Emilia Mae said, “Guess that leaves you to hold down the fort for a while.”
Normally, Alice would have asked Dillard if she could go with him, but the way things had been, she worried he’d say no in a way that would hurt her feelings all over again. Besides, she had other plans.
“You guys go ahead. I was going to watch The Wild Wild West anyway.”
Alice sat in front of the television as first Emilia Mae and then Dillard left. As soon as he walked out, she went to the window and noted the direction he was heading. When he reached the end of the block, she slipped out the door and followed him, sticking close to the curb in case he turned around. He was heading downtown. At Main Street he turned the corner to Lockwood Avenue, right near New Rochelle Hospital. Alice watched from the far side of the street as he passed three storefronts before walking into what looked like a bar with a modest sign outside that said THE SWAN. The windows had blinds drawn across them, so Alice was unable to see inside. She stood outside for a while, not sure of what to do. Someone opened the door long enough for her to peer in. The place was dim and the music loud. She didn’t get too close, knowing that if Dillard caught her now, he’d never forgive her. Everything about this was scary, yet she couldn’t help herself—she had to find out what was going on.
She stood outside for a while longer before heading home.
Twice more she followed him at night, and each time he ended up at the Swan. The second time, she noticed that young men walked in and out, but no women did. Alice told herself how that made sense. In 1966, women wouldn’t go to bars by themselves. As far as she knew, Dillard didn’t drink—or at least she’d never noticed him acting drunk or smelling weird. This must be the place where he met those old friends he’d talked about.
Still, she wasn’t satisfied. At home, she looked up the Swan in the Yellow Pages, but there was no ad. She searched through the local paper for mention of it, but nothing. Who did she know to ask? Friends at school were too young to go to bars. Aloysius and Cora? Not likely. Her mother? Bad idea. Grandma? Yes, maybe Grandma. She and Alberto were out on the town all the time; maybe this was one of the places they’d visited.
On Saturday afternoon, Alice and Geraldine were alone in the bakery. Geraldine had just scoured a tray that had been filled with butter cookies. She was studying her hands and said to Alice, “Mind if I step out of here a bit early? I need a quick manicure. Alberto and I have a party tonight, and I can’t go looking like this.” She shoved her hands in front of Alice.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll clean up, but can I ask you a question before you go? Have you ever heard of a place downtown called the Swan?”
Geraldine squeezed her eyes shut. “Nope, can’t say I have. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. Some kids were talking about it the other day.”
“Is it a cocktail lounge?”
“I don’t know, more like a bar, I guess.”
“Your friends are a little young for bars.”
“I know. I was just curious about what it was.”
“I’ll ask Alberto. I think he’s been to every cocktail lounge in town.”
When Geraldine saw Alice after church the next day, her voice was hard when she asked, “Exactly which friends of yours are going to the Swan?”
“I don’t know,” said Alice. “A bunch of kids from school.”
“Are they homosexuals?” asked Geraldine.
“Huh?” Funny word, homosexuals, thought Alice. She’d never said it out loud, nor had anyone ever said it in front of her. At school, boys called each other fags, queers, or fairies, but she’d always taken it as a joke. Homosexual. That was a serious word, like cancer or penis. No one said those words out loud, either. “I don’t think so,” she said.
“I asked Alberto, and he knew about the Swan. That’s a homosexual hangout, mostly boys from the community college. I can’t believe high school kids would have anything to do with a place like that.”
Dillard wouldn’t have anything to do with a place like that either, thought Alice. Her stomach clenched.
“Oh, that makes sense,” said Alice. “The boys who were talking about it, they were, you know, a little…well…like they might like a place like that.”
“I’m sure these boys are not friends of yours,” said Geraldine.
“Not really,” said Alice.
“So, it has nothing to do with you. Forget about it.”
“Um, how does Alberto know about the Swan?”
“Alberto knows about everything.” Geraldine put her hand on her waist, stuck out one hip, and laughed a little too loudly.