1
IN late June Harry graduated from Harvard. Herman threw him a lavish party at which impeccably dressed and well-behaved people drank and congratulated each other on the fine results of an expensive education, while Harry—as usual slightly unshaven, but elegant in his light gray frockcoat, its broad lapels faced with black silk, a starched white shirt, a white waistcoat and lacquer-shined black patent shoes—ambled from circle to circle on the lawn, shaking hands and nimbly deflecting questions about his future. It was an unseasonably balmy Saturday, and the tables were set out on the Barrington lawn under the white entertainment tent.
Herman complained to Louis that they should have rented a bigger tent. At first Louis pretended he hadn’t heard. “We didn’t realize so many people would be coming, sir,” he eventually said.
“Oh, so you did hear, Jones,” said Herman. “Then why are so many here? Did we not invite them?”
“Not all of them. Harry has many friends, and they all brought their families.”
“Harry was required to give you a guest list three weeks ago.”
“Yes, sir.”
“He didn’t give you a guest list?”
“No, sir.”
Herman sighed and scanned around the unfamiliar laughing faces. “Well, what am I going to do? Yell at our boy on his graduation day?”
“That would not be fitting or proper,” said Louis.
Herman took a drink from his hands. “Indeed, Jones, indeed. No trouble today. Just festivities.”
“I think that’s wise.”
Under the violin strains of Baroque fugues and partitas from a live string quartet, the hundred and fifty invited guests and the hundred uninvited crowded around the white linen tables, crammed together under the refreshment canopy, eating chilled lobster salad and grilled cod straight from the sea that morning. Herman watched Ben and Harry happily natter a short distance away. Harry was spread out in a chair looking up at Ben, who was standing in front of him gesticulating. Harry was drinking and grinning. Herman overheard the separate notes of a singular topic of their conversation. Ellen came over to him with a drink in hand and together they watched their sons for a few minutes.
“We did well, Ellen, don’t you think?” Herman said. “All things considered.”
She shrugged but the pride was clear on her face. “Your Harry is a wonderful boy. He believes in all the right things.”
“Your Ben is a wonderful boy,” said Herman. “He does all the right things.”
“Do you sometimes think, Herman,” Ellen said, “that God, with his perverse sense of irony, switched our children on us?”
Herman put his arm around the much shorter Ellen. “I think he gave us exactly the children we deserve.”
Alice, sitting by Harry’s side, was trying to tease Ben out of speaking. It wasn’t working. Ben, having graduated himself, though without the attendant extravagant fanfare, continued to regale the bored and the uninitiated with stories of Costa Rican bananas and mosquitoes that would be kept away with nets and sprays.
“Alice is a lovely girl, isn’t she?” Ellen said to Herman. “You must be quite pleased she chose your son.”
Herman shrugged. “It’s not for me to be pleased, is it?” he said, ambling away with Ellen to a table full of grown-ups discussing the successful end of the Spanish-American War.
“Bananas kept away with nets and sprays?” Harry was asking Ben. Over a plate of cod and celery salad, they again became engaged in a cheerful “discussion” about digging a fifty-mile-long ditch through the continent instead of sailing 2,700 miles around Cape Horn. After the war, the treaty with Panama and the looming possibility of building the canal was the topic of fascination for polite Bostonians on this Saturday afternoon.
Harry, dressed in finery but his crimson Harvard tie already loosened, was in a good mood and game to pass the time. “Ben,” he said, pretending to be serious, “better to go around Cape Horn? The expense of the new ships you’d need to build will more than offset the expense of traveling around Cape Horn while continuing to use the vessels already on hand, and with sailors who’ve made the trip, know their ship, live on the boat.”
“Harry is right, Ben,” said Orville, not realizing Harry was teasing. “Every country in the world will have to update its fleet. Do you have any idea how much that would cost?” But he rubbed his hands together, as if already anticipating the increase in lumber sales for the new ocean liners.
“It’s a temporary expense, Mr. Porter,” Ben explained patiently to Orville, glaring at a silently amused Harry. “After the new ships are built, what do you think will be cheaper, quicker and better—for the world economy and international trade—to continue to lose men to disease borne out of spending too long at sea, or to travel a few miles through a canal?”
“But the expense, Benjamin,” said Alice, “the expense alone! Wouldn’t it be prohibitive?” She was a vision today, dressed especially nicely for the party and for Harry, from neck to foot in thin, delicate cream-colored lace, in a sweeping skirt over a white silk drop-skirt with an ecru silk fringe. She sat by his elbow and every few minutes spooned some more lobster onto his plate.
“Alice, what about losing the men at sea?” Ben pressed on, sitting down. “What about the economic boon to a small fishing country named Panama? They’ve been fighting for their independence from the Colombians for ten years now. Are you saying it’s all for naught?”
“Why does my son,” Ellen wanted to know, coming over and placing a maternal arm around Ben’s suited shoulders, “so love the idea of exerting American imperial power to intervene in another country’s affairs?”
“Mother, how is it imperial power when we side with the rebels?” Ben was in good humor and kissed his mother’s hand.
Leaning down, she kissed his cheek. “You’re siding with them on their soil, aren’t you?”
“They’ve asked us to!” He pulled up a chair next to him so she could sit.
Slightly intoxicated, she spilled the champagne on her hands. “Did the Filipinos also ask you to fight a war in which they are the prize?”
“Um, Mother, keep to the subject, please,” Ben said. “We are talking about Panama.”
“Oh, Benjamin, please, can we talk about something else?” That was Alice, squeezing Harry’s hand.
“Hear, hear,” seconded Orville. “Let’s talk about Harry.”
Harry groaned dramatically, and everyone laughed.
“Harry, tell us—”
Esther interrupted. “No, no, enough about Harry. This day isn’t all about him.” Her gray eyes twinkled. “I’d like to find out more about Panama,” she said, pulling her chair closer to Ben. She was elegant and attractive in her embroidered, lace-covered robin blue party dress. “Please continue, Ben. You were saying?”
Ben smiled at Esther, but his mother, flanking him on the other side, was the one who spoke first. “Yes, Ben, explain to Esther why America is so intent on extending its tentacles wherever and whenever it sees fit.” She spoke so sharply for someone who was round and merry.
“Mother, while you allow Louis to refill your glass, will you please allow me the possibility that the canal could be an unmitigated good?”
Elmore instantly disagreed—on medical grounds. Standing behind Esther’s chair, he said he was still concerned about the mosquitoes. “It’s the small children that suffer most, Benjamin. In South America, in Africa, they’re the ones that die first from malaria.”
“Oh, can we please not talk about death at a party,” said Irma. “Orville, come with me.” She pulled on her husband’s arm. “Let the young ones talk. We belong at another table. Herman was looking for us. Ellen, come with us?”
No one moved, not even Orville at the behest of his wife.
“Elmore, with all due respect,” said Ben, “the children are not going to be building the canal. The Chinese are.”
“Are they worth sacrificing?”
“Well, there are an awful lot of them, Elmore,” Ellen said agreeably.
“And it’s the Americans that will bring the nets and the spray,” said Ben with a smile. “So because of our work on the canal, the South American children will live longer.” Ben smiled at his mother. “Mother, darling, you might not care about the Chinese, but you do care about the children?”
“What about the Chinese children?” That was Harry. “Would they cancel each other out?”
“Oh, Harry, don’t tease!” exclaimed Alice, teasing. “I know you don’t care about the Chinese or children!” Louis had brought an extra chair and they finally all managed to squeeze around one inadequate table, as the servers refilled their plates with lobster and their goblets with champagne.
“Yes, Harry, Alice is right. But tell us what you do care about,” said Orville.
“Your daughter for one,” answered Harry, lifting Alice’s hand to kiss it.
Alice seemed to like that much better.
“What is the test of your devotion?”
“Father, don’t start!”
Orville wouldn’t let up. “Come on, you’ve been ducking the question like a politician for three years, today especially.”
“I’m not ducking. I’m ignoring.” Harry grinned.
“Now that you’re a graduate, you must answer straight.”
“Why?”
Orville rolled on. “We all know, indubitably, what Ben is going to be doing. But what are you going to be doing?” He smiled rotundly, patting his daughter’s back. She blushed and tittered, and so did Irma. “Orville,” the mother whispered. “Come on, all in due course.”
“Daddy! Ignore him, Harry darling, please.”
“I’m doing that ably, dear.”
But everyone could tell, Alice didn’t want Harry to ignore him. She wanted Harry to talk about nothing else.
“Ladies, gentlemen, please,” Harry said, with a slight sitting bow toward Alice and her parents. “Could we agree, just for today—one party at a time?” Everyone remembered it was his graduation day, and the subject was almost changed. The servers came around again, pouring wine, serving shrimp and potato salad. There was clinking, another toast, loud laughter, another political conversation from an adjacent table wafting in on the wings of the breeze. But Alice’s father, having had too much champagne, would not be so easily denied. “You know, son, you can always come and work for me,” Orville said.
“Why yes, Harry, what a splendid idea.” Ben grinned mischievously. “You can wash your own hands, so to speak, by producing the paper you need to print all the books you read.”
“Exactly!” Orville carried on. “Though mine is not quite that end-product business. But we can always expand in the future. Look, I understand you not wanting to work for your old man. So come and work for me. Alice can teach you the business. I run the largest lumber supply company in New England.”
“Sir,” said Harry. “I have known you and your daughter for a long time. I’m well aware what a fine company you’ve built.” Yet he still did not answer the question! They all sat joyfully under the canopy and waited.
“Don’t worry, Alice dear,” Harry finally said. “I’m not going to go to Panama with Ben, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“Who said anything about Ben going to Panama?” exclaimed Esther.
Elmore glanced at Esther peculiarly. “He’s been talking about nothing else,” he said slowly. “Have you not been paying attention?”
“I’d rather you go to Panama, Harry, than do nothing,” Alice’s father shot back amiably.
Alice gasped. “Daddy! Don’t listen to him, Harry.”
“Who said I will do nothing?” Harry became five degrees less cheerful.
Herman must have been listening from the nearby table where they had been discussing electoral politics. Clearly Orville had got Herman’s short hairs up because he pushed back his chair, slid his wineglass to the side, stood up, sauntered over and leaned in between Harry and Ben. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about Harry anymore, Orville, old boy,” Herman said. “Harry is plenty busy. He is expanding into real estate. Right in his old man’s footsteps. Isn’t that right, son?” He patted Harry’s shoulder.
Harry muttered something unintelligible in reply, leaned away and raised his hand to his father to quiet him, to remind him of something very important, a promise he had made. It was like crystal falling on the marble floor in slow motion. You reached out to catch it, just a moment behind it, a moment too late.
Harry saw the cliff edge the conversation was hurtling toward. But maybe it was a mistake to hold his father, who had had a little too much liquor, to promises made when he was sober. For once Herman was relaxed because it was a good day, and it wasn’t every day your only son graduated from Harvard second in his class; it wasn’t every day your son gave a salutary speech in front of six hundred Harvard graduates. On this day, Herman allowed himself a moment to be proud. And in that moment of punctured pride, he had plumb forgot that he had promised his son to say nothing. So he continued, “Harry started small, but from what my business manager Gray Billingsworth tells me, he is going to be very successful. When Billingsworth gets excited about a venture, you know it’s going to be the next Standard Oil.”
“Billingsworth told me we weren’t investing in oil, Father,” said Harry, belatedly attempting to derail him.
“I’m being metaphorical, son,” an undeterred Herman said.
“What venture?” asked Orville. “Yes, what venture is this?” echoed Ben, still grinning in his innocence. “Harry hasn’t said a word to me about it.”
The reminder of Ben’s white ignorance was too subtle to stop Herman. “My Harry has invested in not one but two restaurants in Lawrence!”
It was as if Harry’s hand flew out to catch the precious gem falling into the abyss. For him the silence lasted long enough for all the crystalline ions, molecules, atoms, lovingly arranged, divinely ordered, to plummet into the rock quarry, shattering and spinning into chaos in front of Harry’s helpless eyes.
“I know, I know,” Herman said when he chanced upon Ben’s glassy stare. “Ben, I thought the same thing. Lawrence! Loony, right?”
“Yes,” Ben said dully. “Crackers.”
“But the textile union contracts were signed in relative peace, the town is prospering, and apparently the Italian man we’ve helped has conjured up some kind of a Neapolitan bread and cheese product that’s setting the profits on fire. They call it pizza or something, right Harry?”
“Right, Father.” Harry was palming his cut-glass flute. All the bubbles had fizzled out of the celebration potion.
“They have lines out the door on the weekends.” Herman laughed with satisfaction. “Billingsworth thinks if they keep it up, they’ll pay us our ten-year note five years early. And he is the most pessimistic man I know.”
“Darling!” said Alice, grabbing Harry’s cold hand. “That is so exciting! I had no idea you were doing something so wonderful. Why did you keep that a secret from me?” She didn’t let him answer. “But what made you go all the way to Lawrence? You could have opened four restaurants in North End.”
Harry couldn’t miss a beat, not a single one, and so he didn’t. “I didn’t open them, Alice,” he said slowly. “I just loaned them money.”
“But how do you know anyone in Lawrence?”
“Ben and I told you about that Italian family we met last year.”
“I don’t remember at all. What Italian family?” She scrunched up her little nose. “I don’t trust the Italians. The few I’ve met have not been nice.”
“Well, these ones seemed like a nice enough bunch, right Ben?”
Pointed silence greeted Harry instead of Ben’s easy reply.
Harry continued. “They were keen to open a place. There were two great locations. They presented this investment idea to me and Billingsworth. You know I know nothing about business, Alice. Not a thing.” Harry sped up, like the steady rattle of a jackhammer. “So he and I went out there and made an assessment. Billingsworth was the one who decided to take a chance. I couldn’t have done it without him. He forecast it could be profitable. And my father is correct—so far so good. The restaurants have only been open a few weeks. Ben, now that you have a little free time, we should ride out there and take a look together.”
Ben said nothing at first. Then he spoke, into his china plate, into his empty tumbler. “I don’t have much free time. My plate is full. No time to ride trains.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up. He didn’t know where to look.
“Harry,” said Esther, frowning, puzzling, “is that where you’ve vanished to the last three months? We’ve hardly seen you!”
Ben’s hands started to tremble. Harry nearly snapped at his sister in full view of the guests. “I haven’t disappeared, Esther. I live at Beck, remember, not at home. I’ve been working hard on my course. Salutatorian of my graduating class, lest you forgot. Not a lot of free time. Billingsworth helped me out a lot. He’s the one who mostly supervised the renovations.” Billingsworth wasn’t present to confirm or deny the frequent supervisions. It was all Harry could do not to glare at his father. But Harry wouldn’t dare lift his eyes to see the lowered confounded head of his friend. The table got an odd hush over it.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Herman said, suddenly catching the drift of the chill in the sunny air. “I hope you’re not upset with me for speaking out of turn. I know we wanted to keep it quiet, but you said yourself it was only until the business got off the ground. And it seems to have gotten off the ground splendidly. I wanted to share your great success at this table. I didn’t want my friend Orville besmirching your fine efforts.”
“I didn’t know he was making such a commendable effort, did I, Herman?” Orville bellowed.
“You don’t have to worry about my boy,” Herman said to Alice’s father with a delighted smile. “Harry is easing himself into the life he chooses, though, as always, temperately. That’s one of his strongest qualities, his lack of impulsiveness.” He smiled fondly at Alice. “He is like a compass, my Harry. Says little but always points in the right direction.”
“Oh, I agree with you, Mr. Barrington,” cooed Alice. “I agree with you wholeheartedly!”
Neither Harry, nor Ben, nor Esther looked at each other or anyone else at the table when Herman Barrington proclaimed so unequivocally his son’s steady navigation of the uncharted course.
With barely a bow, Ben excused himself, saying he would be right back, and fled. Getting up himself, Harry leaned over his sister to whisper to her. “Nicely done. Well played.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered, smile glued to her lips like a ventriloquist, who speaks but doesn’t move his mouth. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”
“Blame myself for what? I did nothing wrong.” Harry was not a ventriloquist.
“R-r-really?” She rolled her r’s without moving her grimacing mouth. “Then why didn’t you tell him?”
“Why did you tell him? I didn’t tell him because I was doing nothing wrong and didn’t want to upset him. But you told him I was never home, which isn’t true in any case, because you thought I was doing something wrong. Why did you want to upset Ben, Esther?”
She almost threw down her gloves onto the manicured lawn. “My intentions are pure,” Esther said through suddenly closed teeth.
“Oh and mine?” Harry retorted. “I didn’t tell him because his feelings are more important than the silly truth. I thought they might be more important to you too, of all people. Clearly I was mistaken.”
Esther blinked away tears, looking at the grass and her cream court shoes, her fingers tense like claws. “I didn’t realize he’d be that upset,” she said to Harry. “Why don’t you ask him,” she said quietly, “why a year later he keeps pining for someone who feels nothing for him?”
“Of all people, Esther, surely you must know the answer to that question,” Harry said coldly, storming away to find Ben.
He caught up with him down the street when Ben was already some distance away.
“Sorry, I’m in a rush,” Ben said, not slowing down and not looking at Harry. “I’m doing a presentation on engineering structures for the Army Corps tomorrow as part of my interview portfolio, and I just realized I’m woefully unprepared.”
“Ben, come on,” Harry said. “You left your mother just sitting there, you didn’t thank my father, didn’t say goodbye to me, to Esther.”
“Please sincerely apologize to your father and to your sister. I’m not myself.”
“Ben.”
The dark-haired young man kept walking and said nothing. He loosened the tie around his neck, as though it was choking him, then ripped it off.
“Dear friend, please, don’t be upset with me.”
“I’m not upset.”
Harry reached out to get hold of Ben’s arm. Reluctantly Ben slowed down and stopped. The two men stood in front of each other on the sidewalk, dressed as if for a wedding.
“Benji, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Harry willed himself not to look away. “Because I didn’t want to upset you. That’s the honest truth.”
“You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want to upset me?” Ben repeated slowly and incredulously.
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“Um, I don’t know. Maybe because . . . that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard?”
“Ben, don’t be upset . . .”
“I’m not upset. But you should’ve told me, Harry. Told me what you were up to. I know we’ve both been busy, but it’s not like we haven’t seen each other. We just had lunch at Hasty Pudding two weeks ago.”
“Yes, with eleven other men.”
“What, hardly the time for confidences?” asked Ben.
“I have nothing to confide. It’s all tediously above board.”
“Why would it upset me if it’s above board?”
“Not if. It is. But you tell me. Why are you cross with me?”
“Cross? Not me.”
“Ben.” He reached out to his friend. “You know I’m going to ask for Alice’s hand.”
“Do I know this?” Ben said, unmollified.
“What you’re thinking, it’s not proper. Or possible. More important, it’s not real.”
“What I feel for her is real.”
Harry lowered his head briefly. He didn’t know what to say. “You haven’t seen her since November,” he said quietly. “You’re this close to shipping off to Panama.”
“So? What is your point? And not at all close—just like you are to marrying Alice.”
“Then very close. Look, it was just to help her brother . . .”
“Why do you care about helping him?”
“That’s what my father’s business is. We help the immigrants in North End. This time they’re a little further north. It’s the same principle. It’s just business, Benji.”
“If it was just business, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to upset you for nothing.”
Ben remained silent. Harry took that as an opening. “Ben, I’m seven years older than her. Can’t you see that what is impossible for you, is doubly impossible for me? Honestly, it doesn’t bear speaking about.”
“Soon she will be sixteen,” Ben said.
“But you and I will be twenty-three!”
Ben rubbed his eyes, his face. “Jiminy Cricket. Sixteen is so damn young.”
“Yes.” Harry took one shallow breath with shattered crystal in it.
“Oh, Harry!” Ben exclaimed, almost like his old self, but with injury in his eyes and voice. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
Why didn’t Harry have a quick enough reply? He feared that his friend, while diligently working on bringing the canal to life, dreamed every day of someday having the belle of Belpasso be old enough to no longer withstand his full-hearted, half-hearted advances. “I was afraid of confrontation,” Harry finally said. “You know how much I don’t like a contretemps. I didn’t want to have one with you, of all people. We’ve never had any trouble between us.”
“No. We never have.”
They shook hands, giving each other a quick hard hug.
“Will you come next Sunday for afternoon tea? Tomorrow we’re not entertaining. And all next week I’m moving my things back home. But then it’ll be just you and us. My father misses you. Esther, too.”
“And Elmore too.” Ben rolled his eyes. “Did you see how famished he was for a fight with me? He is so deliciously hostile. Will he be there?”
“I’ll make sure he isn’t so we can avoid all that hostility, delicious or not.” Harry shook Ben’s hand again. “Benj, are we square?”
Ben almost smiled. “We’re square,” he said.
2
Next Sunday arrived, and Ben came. He greeted everyone, almost like normal, even teased Esther. “Where is Elmore, Esther? Oh no, he’s working! What a shame. And on a Sunday too. No rest for the wicked, I suppose. Harry, did you rest today?”
They had drinks outside, because the weather was again splendid and sat for their finger sandwiches and scones under the covered gazebo. There was a slight breeze, no flies, and the gin and tonics were refreshing. Herman, delighted to see Ben at his house once more, peppered the young graduate with questions.
“Ben,” he asked, “is it true what Harry tells me?”
“I don’t know. What true thing does Harry tell you?”
“That United Fruit offered you a full-time position, and meanwhile the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers presented you with a spot on the Panama Commission. Are you trying to decide between United Fruit and the Army Corps of Engineers?”
“Yes,” Ben replied. “Unlike Harry, I’m actually trying to choose a career.”
“Quite wise of you,” agreed Herman, glancing slightly perplexed at Harry. “Which way are you leaning?”
“I’m vacillating. Afraid to make the wrong choice.”
Herman laughed. “Well, that sounds very much like Harry.”
Ben shook his head. “No, sir. I know for a fact it isn’t. Your son is enjoying an entirely different kind of problem.”
Harry put down his gin and tonic, which suddenly didn’t seem quite as refreshing, sensing veiled hostility.
“Oh, really?” Esther asked, curious. “And what do you think is my brother’s problem?”
“A deep and abiding aversion to toil.”
Ah, so not even veiled. Frowning, Harry said nothing to defend himself, averting his eyes from his discomfited sister.
“What did you say, Ben?” That was Herman. “I didn’t quite hear. I’m beginning to sympathize with Louis . . .”
“Nothing.”
“I’ve been hitting the books for four years,” Harry said slowly. “Eight if you count Andover.”
“And it isn’t all Harry’s been hitting,” returned Ben.
No one knew how to respond to that comment, so no one did. It was all so unlike Ben. Esther studied her blackberry jam and clotted cream. Herman studied both his son and his son’s friend.
“I’d say most of Harry’s efforts have been largely chimerical,” Ben continued. “Except of course for the extravagance of his labor in Lawrence—but what’s that all about? I hardly know.” He paused. “Perhaps it’s a labor of love?”
“Oh, it’s definitely that,” agreed Herman, looking around for Louis. “But also, perhaps Harry is finally finding his way.” He gave up and rose to pour his own cocktail.
“Yes, perhaps,” Ben said casually coldly. “Or . . . perhaps it’s like Joseph Conrad says, there are some men to whom the whole of life is nothing more than an after-dinner hour with a cigar.”
“Don’t knock after-dinner cigars, dear boy,” said Herman jovially. “They’re a delightful and well-deserved treat.”
“Easy, pleasant,” Ben said. “Empty.”
Herman returned to the table with his drink. They sat without speaking. Harry wondered if it would go away, if they could all pretend for just a few weeks, and then all would be forgotten and things would go back to normal.
It had started out a fine Sunday. Where had it gone wrong? The briefest thought flickered in Harry: are we trying to put back together something that’s irreparably broken? Harry refused to believe it. Nothing in life was like that.
Almost nothing.
But he had tried very hard to arrange his own days so that nothing in them would be like that again.
Chewing his lip, and concluding yet again that even the smallest of truths led only to vast unpleasantness, conflict to nothing but ugly scenes, extreme emotions only to hurt, Harry swallowed Ben’s bitter words and tried to leaven the table with self-deprecation. “I’m trying to attain perfection through little more than thought and reflection, Benjamin. Is that so wrong?”
“Ah, is that what you’re trying to do? Attain perfection?”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not a project worthy of us Christians,” said Ben. “That’s a project for ideologues and dictators.”
“Ideologues, you don’t say.”
“Ideologues like Marx,” said Ben.
“Marx was an ideologue? Well, count me in.” Harry raised his crystal tumbler filled with untouched gin and tonic.
“Is there perfection and freedom in being a Marxist?”
“Why not?” Harry said. “We’re not bringing you Marx by the sword, are we? Congregations of people get together and through a democratic process decide how they want to shape their own destinies.” He paused. “Which is what I’d like to do.” He stood up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think the sun has gone to my head. Thank you so much for an enjoyable afternoon. Ben, Esther. Excuse me, Father.”
Ben caught up with him in the galley between the family eating room and Herman’s study. “So now you’re walking away?” he said.
“I’m not feeling quick enough on my feet,” Harry said. “Or with my tongue. I feel dull. I feel like . . .” He broke off. “What’s wrong with you?” he said to Ben coldly. “I thought we were square.”
“Oh, we were, we were,” Ben said, just as coldly. “Until a minute after I left you and was on my way home last week, when it occurred to me that I forgot to ask you a small but all-important question.”
Harry didn’t want to be asked anything.
“Are you still cantering off to Lawrence every day of the week and twice on Sunday?”
His face falling, Harry said nothing.
Ben stepped away, opened his hands. “And you wonder why we’re not square.”
3
Motionlessly Harry sat in the drawing room. He asked Louis to build up the fire, though it was blistering hot in the late evening. For some reason he was cold, like the moon had gone out. He felt blackly depressed. It was decided: he knew what he had to do, what he must do. He had no choice. He didn’t have even the illusion of freedom. To save the only life he knew how to live, he knew what had to be done. Why then did it make him feel like a seaborne vessel from which all men had fled, leaving her to sink alone?
He didn’t have long to sit and commiserate with himself. His father called him into his study. Reluctantly Harry followed Louis down the hall. He wished he had gone upstairs so he wouldn’t have been bothered tonight. Perhaps a good night’s rest would rid him of his malaise.
“Harry, sit down.”
Reluctantly Harry sat down. “Elmore suggested a nurse he works with at Mass General,” he began, launching into a campaign of distraction. “According to Esther, Elmore said she is quite capable. Rosa something or other. Would you like Esther and me to interview her this week now that I’m home? She wouldn’t be a replacement for poor deaf Louis, merely an additional pair of hands.”
Herman ignored him. “Later about Louis. Tell me about Ben.”
“What about him?”
“Don’t be obtuse. What’s got into him?”
“I don’t know. A bad mood, I reckon.”
“Why?”
Harry shrugged.
Herman folded his hands. “He seemed uncharacteristically hard on you.”
“Perhaps I deserve it.”
“Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere. What have you done?”
“I said perhaps, Father. I don’t know.”
Herman wiped a speck of dust off his wood desk, straightened out some papers in the corner, fiddled with the inkwell next to his quill pen. “I overheard some of your conversation with him in the hall earlier.”
Harry folded his own hands. If he had been standing, he would’ve put them in his pockets, the way his father hated. “So if you know, why ask me?”
“But I don’t know anything.”
“It was hardly a conversation. Two sentences.”
“That’s why I’m still ignorant,” said Herman. “I was hoping you could enlighten me.”
“I’m trying to enlighten myself.” Though opening his eyes was not such a wonderful thing.
“I also had a chance to speak to your sister.”
“I’m glad, Father. Will there be anything else?”
“What do you mean, we just sat down.”
“Surely you don’t need me to hear that you talked to Esther. You do that quite frequently,” Harry said. “After all, you are related. Also, you live in the same house.”
“Son, don’t be upset with your sister. She only wants the best for you. As I do.”
“Do you?”
Herman frowned. “Of course. I would have liked this Lawrence situation to be something foundational, not built on the ever-shifting sands of your mercurial nature or another passing whimsy. I had been so excited to help set you on your way. Esther, however, seemed to indicate . . . but no. I have to ask you directly, and be straight with me, don’t give me your runaround. Is it real?”
Harry didn’t answer for a few minutes.
Not long ago she had brought him a dyed carded roving to open his eyes to wonders he didn’t understand. She had combed the wool and braided it and then steeped the plump spool in vinegar water colored with the deep juice of blueberries. The wool had dried by the time she showed it to him, and he touched it like he was touching a purple pupa—with the barest tips of his fingers. How does this become anything one can possibly use, he asked. With a breathless laugh she said—by magic. Like electricity. A week later she gave him a gift of a violet scarf, soft and scarlet like bloodied down. But in that untouched week she and the roving went into the chrysalis together. She emerged on the other side of Tuesday floating in a pink sunshine dress, and the sheep fur in her hands became a faint millstone around his neck that he took with him to Beck Hall. Near the scarf fringe an ivory letter “H” was knitted. He asked: for Harvard? For Harry, she replied.
“No,” said Harry to his father. “It’s not real.” And the stallion of joy just up and galloped away, leaving his heart balled up like his fists.
Herman heaved a disapproving sigh. “That is disappointing.”
Harry tried to divert the frontline assault by using rules of combat he wasn’t used to. “I don’t know who I am yet,” he said, apathetic now. “I’m still looking. I’m not ready to make a number of difficult decisions that are being thrust upon me.” Forced upon me. “I’m exploring my options.” He shook his head. “I’m not ready.”
“That’s fine,” Herman said. “But until you make a career decision, you cannot ask for Alice’s hand in marriage.”
“Really? But okay. Am I asking for it?”
“Don’t you soon intend to?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said evenly. “No point in continuing to put me on the spot as sport, though, wouldn’t you agree? It’s hardly going to make me rise to the occasion.”
Herman sat back. “You don’t think it might shame you into it?”
“Shamed into marriage? Not very likely.”
“I meant shamed into a career.”
Harry tightened his mouth. “Father, you’ve told me my whole life I’ve come into privilege accidentally and with it came freedom that other people didn’t have.”
“With it also comes responsibility that other people don’t have.”
“I know. But freedom first?”
“You’ve had twenty-three years of nothing but.”
“I’ve had twenty-three years of schooling and studying and reading, and learning and thinking. I haven’t had freedom.”
“Not enough time?”
“Not nearly.”
“Okay, but can we agree on a time limit for vacillation? Say six months?”
“No,” said Harry. “We can’t agree to it. I will not put arbitrary parameters on the most important decision of my life—my role in it.”
Herman sat patiently. His brow looked weary. “Alice is not going to wait forever, son.”
Harry studied his hands. “Okay.”
“What are you going to do about Ben?”
“Ben is under a lot of pressure, Father,” Harry said. “His allegiance has shifted, as allegiance sometimes does, and he is realizing, somewhat belatedly, that he cannot serve two masters—the canal builders and the banana growers. Time has come for him to decide. And he doesn’t want to. Andrew Preston has been Ben’s most loyal benefactor. Aside from you. But the choice between two opposing things of equal weight are tough. So he struggles. Some of this you saw at dinner. Please accept my apologies on his behalf.”
“Nonsense,” said Herman. “That is not what I saw at dinner at all. And you know how I enjoy feisty discussion. We don’t have enough of it. Most of it is so chaste. That’s why I adore it when Ellen comes to visit, she makes our dinners so lively. Clearly her son has inherited some of his mother’s spark. Our tea today was entertainment of the first order. Much like the running of the bulls I keep reading about.” Herman paused. “That’s not what concerns me.”
In a minute the concerns were going to be unloosed on Harry’s indifferent head.
“What concerns me,” Herman went on, “is that your sister seems to think that behind Ben’s antagonism and your adventure in Lawrence is something of a rather more personal nature. From the snippet of your conversation with Ben, I fear Esther may be correct.”
“She is wrong.” Harry sighed. “Don’t mind her.”
“Why didn’t you tell Ben about your business venture in Lawrence?”
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
“But why not him?”
“For the same reason why not anyone.”
Herman raised his hand to stop Harry. “I’m not delving into your affairs, son. But I am going to suggest that you delve into your motives and figure out what’s important to you. Do you have ulterior motives, as Esther alludes?”
Harry opened his mouth to tell Herman of Esther’s ulterior motives and then closed it. He didn’t want Ben’s presence in his father’s house to be anything but what it had always been, easygoing and familiar. Was it too late for that? He refused to believe it. He had already made up his mind by the fire; he was going to set things right. If only his father wouldn’t interfere, as always, and make Harry’s every decision more tortured. “Esther doesn’t want Ben to go to Panama,” he said. “She is worried about him. She would prefer he stay in Boston and work with Preston at United Fruit.”
“Why?”
What to say to that? There was once something about tulips Esther had said to Harry. It was a few years ago in the spring and Ben had his wandering eye briefly set on the flower shop owner’s daughter on Main Street. Esther said, sometimes I truly believe that even tulips are agonized.
Only today did Harry feel what she had meant.
They sat without speaking.
“The affairs of the heart are complicated, Harry,” Herman said quietly.
“I don’t need you to tell me that, Father.”
“I don’t claim to be an expert. I will not presume to offer either of my grown children advice.”
“And I for one can’t tell you,” Harry said, “how much I appreciate that.”
“Please think carefully about your place in your own life.”
Harry stood up before he was dismissed. “Father, it’s as if you don’t know me. That’s all I do.”
Herman got up in a measured manner. “Unfortunately I’m beginning to realize I know you too well.”
Harry bowed before he left. “I hope one day to either surprise you or to fulfill the expectations you have of me.”
“Son,” said Herman, “I would much rather you shocked the hell out of me.”
4
Gina crossed Broadway and was rushing to Antonio’s restaurant by the station when she saw the carriage draw up. This made her so happy that she lifted her dragging skirt and started to run. She hadn’t seen Harry in over three weeks and was nearly at the point of going to his house in Barrington to call on him. Breathless and flushed, she forced herself to slow down as she neared the black covered carriage.
Billingsworth came around, barely nodding to a smiling Gina, and opened the door. A woman stepped out, wearing sensible shoes as if she were dressing for the country, a smart oversized hat and a tweed suit. Esther took her bag and calmly turned to the restaurant, acknowledging Gina by pursing her already tense mouth. Gina stopped smiling.
“Hello.” She didn’t know what to say next.
“Oh, hello,” Esther said coolly, as if uncertain she’d even met Gina before.
“I’m Gina Attaviano. We met last fall . . .”
“Did we? I do apologize, I’m terrible with faces. Are you Salvatore’s sister?” Esther pointed to Antonio’s.
Gina nodded. She stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do next. Billingsworth scurried by like a mouse, from the carriage to the front door.
“Hello, Mr. Billingsworth,” she called after him. He barely acknowledged her, deliberately not catching her eye.
Gina turned to Esther. “We met at Ben’s mother’s Anti—”
“Of course, of course. How are you? And your friend? Valerie, was it?”
“Verity.”
“That’s right. My apologies. I’m also terrible with names. How do you do?” Esther asked an inert Gina. “Have you finished your studies?”
“Uh, no. I’ve got two more years left.” Why was Esther asking her this?
“I meant for this year.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you. We are on summer recess.”
“Very good. If you will excuse me, Mr. Billingsworth and I are here for our monthly meeting with your brother. I hope this is not a bad time. The place looks crowded.”
“It is,” Gina said. “But he’s not here.”
“Oh. We thought he was here for lunch? Harry told us Antonio’s at lunchtime, Alessandro’s at dinner.”
Gina frowned, her heart missing a beat. “Harry’s right. But Dotty quit. She was our manager. Until we hire someone new, Salvo is at Alessandro’s all day. It’s on Essex Street, not far from here . . .”
“Who’s covering Antonio’s then?”
“Me.”
Esther inspected her. “As a manager?”
“I just make sure other people are doing their jobs. It’s not hard.”
“But you have to tell people what to do, young lady. Men.”
“I do that.”
“Do they listen?”
“Usually.”
“I see.” Esther started to write officiously in her large notebook. She looked smart and serious, like a businesswoman. Gina became aware how comical she must look in her threadbare summer frock. Surreptitiously, so Esther wouldn’t see, she pulled out the blue lotus wildflowers from her hair and let them drop to the ground, stepping on the blooms, tamping them into the dusty sidewalk for good measure.
“Is everything okay?” she asked Esther. “Is Harry all right?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?”
As nonchalantly as she could, Gina shrugged. “Usually he comes with Mr. Billingsworth.”
“Not anymore. These two restaurants are a Barrington family investment. Harry asked me to take over their management . . .”
“Asked you to?”
“Quite right. After his graduation, he decided to spearhead the renovation of a commercial block on Charter Street in North End. It’s a major and complex undertaking for our father’s company. Harry is staying focused on his biggest priorities.”
“Yes, Lawrence is quite far,” echoed Gina.
“Oh,” Esther exclaimed, as if just remembering, “did you get a chance to have a gander at last week’s Boston Register by the way?”
Gina didn’t even know what that was. “I missed it last week,” she said. “Is there any news?”
“Indeed. Harry and Alice Porter are engaged to be married. He asked her father for her hand, and she graciously accepted. There was a full-page story about it in the paper. I’m surprised you missed it. The engagement dinner is in July. Would you like us to send Salvo and you an invitation? And Variety too, of course. It’s going to be the engagement event of the summer. Alice is one of the most sought-after young ladies . . .”
“I should hope not anymore.”
Esther laughed.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Gina said, standing straight and tall, her face a blank, her body motionless. “It’s lunch hour, and I must attend to my own priorities.”
“Business does seem to be very good.” The front door never stopped swinging open and shut.
“It’s my brother’s pizza. You must try some if you get the chance.”
“Maybe another time,” said Esther. “Harry said your brother is a hard-working young man. And Billingsworth told me the restaurants are outperforming their projections by 86%. Which means—”
“They’re making nearly twice what we planned.” Gina smiled. “Goodbye, Esther.” Etiquette be damned. Without waiting for a reply, Gina disappeared inside the noisy maul of Antonio’s.
5
She lay on the bed face-down all day Sunday. It was a gorgeous day and both Angela and Verity sat on the bed tugging at her to go boating on the Merrimack. “Come on, don’t be sad, you silly girl.”
They consoled her that day and the next and the one after that. But all Gina could do was work and lie motionlessly on her bed. “You’re fifteen, for goodness sake!” Angela finally exclaimed. “This is only the beginning. You’ve got a lifetime of boys to look forward to. Why are you so upset? Gina, you’re barely off the boat and out of diapers. He is a graduate from Harvard. His father owns an entire town, and a whole section of another. He is not your man.”
“Doesn’t own it. Helped build it.”
“Don’t quibble. Ah, so you are listening.”
“On his mother’s side, one of his ancestors walked off a boat called The Mayflower, I think. In his heart, he is an immigrant, just like me, searching for a new world.”
“He is done searching. You have it wrong. He is born and raised and will die in the very world for which you’re searching. But for what it’s worth,” Angela added, “you are much prettier than he is handsome.”
“That’s not true. Have you seen his eyes? He is lovely.”
“Only you think so.”
“Clearly not.” Gina flew up off the bed like an incensed wounded bird, hobbled over to her dresser, grabbed the damn Register, flung it open and pointed at the Announcements page. “Look at her! Alice Porter of Timber blah blah, one of the five largest blah blah in New England, oh, and she is a Radcliffe attendee.”
“She is wasting her time,” Angela said wisely. “No man wants a smart woman.”
“Harry does!”
Verity glanced at the newspaper. “She is so blonde and pretty.”
Flinging the paper onto the floor, Gina fell back on the bed.
“You’ll see, Gina, this will be your lucky day.”
“I will never see that.”
“Verity is right,” said Angela. “Even if he was remotely interested, Salvo and Mimoo would not let you out with him.”
“Look how they were with Ben,” said Verity, “and he had a real yen for you.” She said this with slight regret. “That’s the part I don’t understand. If you’re going to go for the unattainable, why not go for the one who is already swooning over you?”
“Verity,” said Gina. “I may be fifteen, but you know nothing about love.”
The girls laughed at her. She stood her ground, so to speak, as she lay prostrate. “You think you choose who to love? How easy that would be. It chooses you, Verity. Love comes from the heavens, pierces your heart, and claims it for itself. Don’t you know anything?”
“Am I the one moping on the bed during a hot summer?”
“Verity’s got a point,” said Angela. “Gia, what about Tommy who comes to St. Vincent’s every day you’re there to donate his sister’s toys and clothes? She’s got nothing left! His parents are going to have to buy her one new set of everything. He only comes because you’re there. He plays this newfangled thing called baseball, he is athletic and handsome. The other day he saw you walking across O’Leary Bridge and nearly fell off his horse. He offered to carry your wool for you. Am I right, Verity? All the pious girls at St. Mary’s would sacrifice their rosary-kneading fingers to have him fall off his horse for them. Why are you pining over some old guy?”
Gina shook her head. “He’s not old. He is wise and smart.”
“He’s not an owl. He’s an old man. And it’s nothing but a crush.”
Gina shook her head. Angela was wrong. It was extravagant, but it was not short-lived.
“You don’t even know what you want to do yet.”
“I do.”
“You don’t know who you are.”
“I do.”
“You don’t know what you’re going to become.”
“I do.”
“Soon you will be a young lady,” said Angela, caressing Gina’s back. “You’ll be a beauty queen, and he’ll be a silly old lumber merchant in a tweed jacket.”
“That’s not who he is.”
“Gina’s right, Ange, that’s not who he is,” said Verity. “Have you heard him talk? It’s book this and book that. Idea this and idea that. It’s boring even to me.”
“It’s not boring,” said Gina. “It’s fascinating.”
“I never liked him,” said Angela, “for what it’s worth.”
“It’s not worth much.”
“Me neither,” said Verity. “I liked Ben more.”
“You did, did you? You’d better not tell Mother Grace that. She’ll expel you from the nunnery.”
Verity turned bright red. “I meant for you.”
“Sure that’s what you meant.”
“It’s summertime!”
“I’m aware what time of year it is, Verity.”
“So stop fretting and come to the Merrimack. The boys and girls are having a race. Tommy will let you get in his boat. He’ll row the skull for you.” Angela and Verity giggled.
Gina turned her back to them, curling up. “You’ve never been inside a boat yourselves. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“For your information, gloomy girl,” Angela said knowingly, poking her in the shoulder blades, “I’ve been on boats every summer, not lying in bed all droopy-eyed after some boy who doesn’t know my name.”
“Harry knows my name!”
Angela lowered her voice. “If you don’t come outside and play with me and Verity right now, I’ll tell Salvo what you’re doing.”
“Go on then. Run along. Tell him I’m lying on the bed.”
“Pining.”
“He’ll ignore you.”
“Will Mimoo?”
“Doubly so.”
On Monday Gina was up. She was not dressed for the river or work or schoolgirl summer adventures. She was dressed in church clothes and church shoes. She wore a gray skirt and a prim white blouse buttoned to her chin. Her hair was wound so tightly into a high bun that she looked almost hairless. She worked the lunch shift at Antonio’s, and then, after the crowd dissipated, and when no one was looking, she crossed the street, proudly clutching a little brown purse she had “borrowed” from Angela and caught the 2:45 to Boston.
It was one paragraph in the Register that had done it. She just couldn’t get it out of her mind. She couldn’t rest until she saw him, one last time. There was no point in being maudlin, she saw that. Obviously the Cupid’s arrow that had passed between them in the dust outside the quarry was pointing one way only; in her own exuberance she had badly misconstrued his intentions. But she thought it was cowardly of him to hide behind Esther, to send her, to delegate the dirty, roll-up-your-sleeves work to a woman, his sister of all people. She wanted to catch him in it. She wanted to confront him face to face.
It is with great pleasure that Orville and Irma Porter announce the welcome engagement of their only daughter Alice Mary, 22, of Brookline, to Harold Barrington, 23, of Barrington. Miss Porter is a worthy and exemplary young lady and is popular with her friends. She is one of the city’s best-known society ladies. Mr. Barrington, an upright and enterprising young businessman, is a summa cum laude graduate of Harvard University, where he read economics and philosophy. Miss Porter, a Radcliffe attendee, is the heiress of East Timber, the largest lumber company in New England and one of the largest in the United States. The date for the wedding has not yet been set, but the engagement dinner will take place by invitation only at the home of Mr. Porter in Brookline on July 18 at two o’clock in the afternoon. May their future happiness be well seasoned with all the spices of life.
6
Gina found him on Charter Street overseeing the placement of new window frames into an old building. Ben was on the second floor, guiding the crane’s jaws into proper position in the opening, while Harry was down below on the street. He didn’t see Gina come up to him. It was a late June afternoon. They both stood shielding their eyes from the sun, looking up at Ben.
Ben waved. That’s when Harry turned and saw her.
“Oh, hello,” he said, taking off his hat, leaving it dangling in his left hand. His gray eyes deepened slightly, and then became blank. “How do you do?”
“I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”
He mumbled something in reply. “What are you doing in North End?”
“I’ve come to ask you a question,” she said, wasting no time. It was to her great satisfaction that she saw Harry become as uncomfortable as she’d ever seen him. He shifted from foot to foot, paid phenomenal attention to the slightly loose laces in his shoes, nearly dropping his hat, and searching in vain through his five pockets for a non-existent pair of glasses. Gina watched him calmly as he twitched through the maneuvers.
What saved him was Ben, who had come downstairs and outside. “Hello, Gina.” He was cool at first, but couldn’t help but smile at seeing her. “It’s been such a long time,” he added mildly, with a bow to her, something Harry had not done. “My mother has been asking after you. So many wonderful guest speakers are attending Thursday nights. Last week Frederic Heath came.”
“I’m sorry I missed that,” said Gina. She had no idea who Frederic Heath was. “Verity and I wanted to come to the city for the annual Charles River Festival.”
“Oh, yes, you should. That’s lots of fun.”
“I’m sure. But it starts too late. Eight in the evening is too late for us to be in Boston.”
“It’s also on Saturdays during the day,” Ben said quickly. “At two, I think.”
“I know. But I work Saturdays. I have the market early and then it’s our busiest afternoon at the restaurants.”
“Yes, Harry told me about the restaurants.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
The three of them stood. Harry said nothing.
“Congratulations on graduating,” Gina said.
“Thank you.”
“How is the banana business?”
“Exploding.”
“Exploding bananas!”
And they chuckled.
“What about the canal?” she asked.
“Still ongoing—in the research phase.” Ben paused. “I’m sorry if that delayed train back in November caused you trouble,” he said at last.
“Oh, it did,” Gina said dismissively. “But that was a long time ago. It’s forgotten now.” She paused. “Of course we can’t go to the meetings anymore, which is unfortunate. But otherwise, all’s forgotten. Verity is turning nineteen next week. She has graduated herself.” Ruefully Gina smiled. “She may be able to come to the meetings. If she can get one of her other friends to accompany her.”
“Not you?” said Ben.
“Not me.” She struggled against letting her shoulders slump under the great weight of her regrettable youth. Managing a smile, despite the prickles of pain, she stood stiff like the stalk of a flower. “I actually have to run, Ben. I can’t stay. I just came to ask Harry a quick business question regarding some items we need at the restaurant. But it’s nice to see you again,” she finished. “I hope I see you again someday.”
The smile left Ben’s face. “Of course,” he said. “Nice to see you too, Gina. Excuse me.” He walked away before they could stop him.
Charter Street was stale and heavy with the reek of their awkward silence.
“Why is Ben upset with me?” asked Gina.
“He isn’t. Why would he be?”
“He shouldn’t be. Why is he upset with you then?”
“Just preoccupied,” Harry said. “He befriended a geologist who hammers him daily about the folly of carving up the eroding rock of a millennial river.”
“I bet Ben is sorry he ever made the gentleman’s acquaintance.”
Harry almost smiled.
Gina wanted to say—just like I’m sorry I ever made yours. But she didn’t mean it. So she couldn’t say it. She fidgeted, studying the hem of her properly long skirt. No shoes in sight this time, or swollen ankles on pavements, no blue satin ribbons, bare elbows, mouthfuls of fragrant air. “I haven’t seen you in Lawrence.”
“No. Is that your question? I thought my sister explained. She had to take over for me. I’ve gotten enormously busy here.”
“So I see.” She watched him standing with his hand in his pocket in the middle of the street.
“Esther is swell. I think you’ll get along with her. She has a good head for business—much better than mine.”
“Really? You had been doing quite well yourself. Salvo and I wanted to ask you about opening a beer garden in the back of Alessandro’s. We think it would bring in even larger crowds on summer evenings, or for Saturday afternoon drinks.”
“That’s a good idea. An excellent idea.”
“There’s room in the back, but the area would need to be paved with stone, and tables and chairs would need to be bought.” She broke off. “Maybe some landscaping,” she added quietly. “Some flowers.”
“Yes, why not? Some tulips in spring.” He blinked. “Absolutely. Leave it with me. I’ll talk to Billingsworth about it tomorrow. He’ll increase Salvo’s line of credit to cover the expense.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. It’ll be good for business.”
“Yes.” They stood. “Well, that’s all I came to ask,” Gina said. “I’d better head back. I don’t want to miss my train. Though it’s not far from here, this is much closer than Old South. The station is just up the street. Up Causeway. I passed the men fishing in Mill Creek.” She paused. “Not ice fishing. Just ordinary fishing.”
Ever so slightly he shifted on his foot toward her—just an inch. But Gina noticed. “Oh, by the way,” she said, as if just remembering. “I almost forgot. Congratulations on your engagement.” Her voice was brassy bright. “Three years in the making, huh?”
A long slow blink was Harry’s only response. Now he moved a foot away.
“Your fiancée sounds like a very special girl,” Gina continued. “Esther kindly directed me to the Boston Register announcement. She is quite the socialite, your Alice.”
Quietly Harry agreed that Alice came from a good family. “I should say. And she is very beautiful.”
He squinted at her, trying to see her more clearly through his narrowed vision. “Thank you,” he said.
“Is your father in business with her father? For the raw materials?”
“Sometimes.”
“For example, is any of the lumber used for Salvo’s restaurants from your fiancée’s father?”
Harry became stuck for words. “The contract my father has is with East Timber. So, yes, I suppose so.”
“Well, the quality of the wood is excellent.” Gina became stuck for words.
“Gina, I deeply apologize if anything I ever did or said was misconstrued by you in any way to cause you aggravation or hardship.”
“Of course you didn’t. No need to apologize.”
“You are a very . . .”
“Please, no need to say more.”
“. . . spirited and delightful young lady.”
“Thank you.”
“It has been a pleasure to help you and your family, and I wish you the very best. If there is anything at all I can do to help, please don’t hesitate . . .”
“Thank you.” Her lip trembled ever so slightly. She hoped he didn’t notice.
But he did notice. Because he stepped toward her, hat in hand, and lowered his voice. “We are from different worlds, Gina!” he said in a near whisper.
“Absolutely. No need to . . . please . . .” She wouldn’t and couldn’t lift her eyes.
“And—I’m twenty-three! And you’re—”
“Almost sixteen . . .”
“A child.”
“Harry!”
She was surprised she had raised her voice, the way she was feeling—so flattened. Yet she found the strength from somewhere to stop him from speaking. She raised her palm and shook her head, took two breaths to keep the tears from her eyes and two steps back from him because sometimes you had to put up your hand against the people who had the power to wound you the most. “Most sincerely, you helped my family, my brother—you saved him.” One of her hands went on her heart. “I’m always going to be grateful to you for giving him a chance to realize his dreams. I don’t want to cause you a moment of trouble. With your father, or sister—or fiancée. No more words are required.” She took another deepest breath. “Or desired.”
“Gina . . .”
“There is nothing between you and me.”
And before he had a chance to speak another stilted syllable, she swirled around and walked unhurriedly down the street and away from him.
Once, last fall, Harry had reluctantly admitted to Ben, after much prodding, that the one thing about her that seemed slightly older than her years was how she carried herself, how she walked with dignity, with understated grace. He thought that especially intensely today after he had pricked her pride and hurt her feelings, and then watched her walk away like a high society duchess. His skimmer hat still dangling from his fingertips, he shifted half a step to go after her, his heart pounding, and then looked up and from behind the second-floor window frame caught sight of Ben’s stricken face.
Lifting his hat in a short salute, Harry replaced it firmly on his head, and turned toward the harbor, away from Ben, away from Gina, away from the fishermen of Mill Creek.
7
“Gina,” Angela consoled her, “you think you weren’t smart enough for him? That’s how you know he is right—you are still a child. Don’t you know anything? The cleverest woman is the one who makes her man seem clever. Men don’t like smart women. They don’t like educated women. They certainly don’t wish to have them as wives.”
“He does.”
“Why do you think this?”
“Because the woman he asked to marry him went to Radcliffe!”
“Oh, phooey, Radcliffe.” Angela couldn’t be less impressed. “You say it like she received a diploma. Harvard calls Radcliffe its ‘annex.’ They throw them a certificate! A bone to placate them for not giving them a proper degree. So what? She went to a library. Read some books. Maybe someone spoke to her about the books she read.”
“Ange, you’re describing what an education is.”
“No. An education is wisdom acquired through experience. And you have neither. For all I know neither does the lumber princess.”
“Then why would he want to marry her? I know he felt something for me. I know this.”
Angela sighed. “Gina, he is a Harvard graduate, and you hate school and are counting the days until you can quit. He is a wealthy Bostonian, descendant of warriors and Founding Fathers, and you’re an immigrant wearing handme-downs. You wear the clothes his cook throws away! Just think about that for a second. Also he is nearly a geriatric and you’re at the beginning of your life. Also, his fiancée is a debutante who has gone to fifty balls and who has traveled to Paris. You probably can’t even find Paris on a map, darling.”
“I thought you just said education is not important?”
“It’s not education. It’s everything. It’s the station in life. He is Grand Central Terminal in New York. And you’re Jericho, Utah.”
“Utah? Do they even have train stations in Jericho?”
Angela gazed at her with affection. “My point entirely.” She lay down on the bed next to her cousin and put her arm around her. “Read some books by all means. Save for a new feather hat. But, angel, if he doesn’t love you because you haven’t read The Manifesto of the Communist Party, he isn’t going to love you even if you do.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Will he fall off his horse for you like wild-eyed Tommy?”
“He’d never fall off a horse, he is too good a horseman.”
“So not even you could throw him off his horse, Gia?”
“You’re impossible. Have you heard a word of what Mother Grace teaches Verity and me?”
“Fortunately for me, no.”
“She constantly quotes us Marcus Aurelius.”
“What a helpful and historically-minded Reverend Mother she is.”
“She is a humble servant of God. She tells us, hasten thee to the goal. Lay idle hopes aside. And come to your own help, if you care at all for yourself, while still ye may.”
“You see,” said Angela, “what I take away from that is that the humble servant of God who knows about these things ordered you to lay your idle hopes aside.”
“And, what I take away,” said Gina resolutely, wiping her face and getting up from the bed, “is come to your own help, while still ye may.”