IT SEEMED THAT THE adage “Time heals all wounds” did not apply in the case of Harry’s relationship with his father. As the months passed, Harry’s memory of his father’s words continued to plague him. Deep down, he feared that his father was right: He would fail as a writer as he had at school. If it had not been for Lily, he might have given up, but she constantly bolstered his ego.
“Darling, I know how bad you feel about your parents, but you have to believe in yourself. I know that you’re going to be famous.”
Between Lily’s faith on the one hand and his own pride on the other, he threw himself into his work with a vengeance. Writing furiously, he submitted one article after another. They ranged from the philosophical to the humorous to the literary—whatever he thought might find a market.
He totally abandoned the idea of finishing the novel. Potentially, of course, it could make a great deal more money than any article, but he just didn’t have the luxury of devoting the year he now felt it would take to complete it.
He worked so hard that Lily almost had to pry him away from the pine desk for meals. One night she woke up at two in the morning to find Harry’s side of the bed empty and hear the clatter of the typewriter coming from downstairs. She put on her robe and went to his study. “Harry, do you realize that it’s two in the morning? Come to bed, darling.”
Wearily, he rubbed his eyes. “I want to finish this, Lily,” he said, sighing.
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“Lily, I don’t want to talk about it! I set my own deadlines, and this is going in the mail today.”
Pityingly, she saw his lined face, his red-rimmed eyes.
“Darling, what are you trying to prove?”
Remembering his father’s words, he snapped, “I’m not trying to prove a goddamn thing. I’m just trying to keep bread on the table and a roof over our heads.”
Lily was dumbfounded. This was the first time Harry had ever lashed out at her. And why was he so upset about money? After all, they had over twenty thousand dollars in the bank, they owned their own house, and their expenses were almost negligible.
“Harry, I’m sorry,” she said reasonably. “I’m not trying to interfere, but you just look so tired.”
Slamming his fist on the table, he shouted, “Damn it, Lily! I’m going to finish this, now!”
After a moment’s shocked silence, she turned away, tears welling up in her eyes. She was halfway upstairs before Harry came to his senses. Running after her, he said huskily, “Please, darling, forgive me. I didn’t mean to yell.”
“I’m sorry I interrupted you,” Lily said through her tears. “I didn’t realize how you felt. Of course, if you want to finish your article, you have a right to.”
Kissing her he said, “I’ll just be another twenty minutes, darling.”
So Lily fast learned lesson number one in her marriage: Harry did not want to be disturbed when he was writing. Determined to be the perfect wife, she became scrupulous about not intruding on his privacy, no matter how she might worry about his physical well-being.
Yet secretly Lily did not quite understand why Harry pushed himself this hard. There were days when she barely saw him, and then love-making became rare. Since he’d never confided in her, she didn’t understand that in addition to wanting to prove his family wrong, he was torn between the need to sell his work and taking the time to finish his novel. Therefore, between those two obsessions, Harry found himself with a feeling of total impotence.
Finally, one day he stopped in disgust, staring at a silly humorous piece about trout fishing. With a single motion, he ripped out the sheet, crumpled it, and threw it in the wastebasket.
Rolling in another sheet of paper, he took a deep breath and began writing. The responsibility of a man to his conscience … For the next day and a half, the words flowed like molten lava. God, it felt good, he thought. He had forgotten that writing could give him this sense of fulfillment, but then, he hadn’t worked on anything meaningful since he got married.
Finally he typed, The End. It wasn’t a particularly commercial piece, unless by some lucky chance Harper’s or The Atlantic Monthly was interested, but it was something he could be proud of.
Breathlessly, he rushed to Lily, who was sitting in the bedroom nursing Jeremy. He simply had to share this with her.
“You’ve got to hear this!” he said, ignoring the baby.
Lily put her finger to her lips. “Sssh, darling! You’ll wake Jeremy!”
Staring at her as though she had struck him, he whirled and walked out of the room. At that moment he almost hated his own child. What if Jeremy did wake up? Was that the end of the world? Harry fumed. He didn’t ask much of Lily, but when he needed her, dammit, she should at least listen to him!
He left so rapidly Lily didn’t even realize he was upset. She cradled Jeremy in her arms and lay down alongside him in her own bed. He was so precious, so very precious.
Awakened by his whimper, she looked at the clock and realized with surprise that she had slept for two hours.
Quickly, she changed his diaper and put him on his stomach in the playpen. Leaving him cooing at a stuffed animal, she hurried down to the kitchen, where she started to make dinner. In the midst of frying chicken, she suddenly realized that she hadn’t spoken to Harry all day. Her conscience bothered her a little. Had he even had lunch?
After putting a pan of biscuits in the oven, she went down the hall. For a moment, she hesitated. Then, not hearing the typewriter, she walked over and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Would you like some dinner, Harry? The chicken will be ready soon.”
“Chicken?” he replied with exaggerated surprise. “Why, what a treat!”
Lily stood dumbfounded. “What’s wrong, Harry?”
“Wrong? You’ve noticed that something is wrong?”
“Harry, why are you acting like this? Is the work going poorly?”
He stared at her incredulously and thought, She doesn’t even remember. All she cares about is the baby.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring lunch, darling,” she was saying.
“Your concern is a little too late. You didn’t even look up when I wanted to read you my article.”
Suddenly Lily remembered Harry’s brief appearance in the bedroom. “I’m sorry, darling,” she said. “I didn’t realize what you wanted. Please read it to me now.”
“No. It’s too late,” Harry said, sulking.
“Oh, Harry, please don’t be like that. Jeremy is only six months old—babies have a lot of needs.”
“And so do husbands!” he retorted angrily.
Lily stared at him in consternation. This was the first indication she had that Harry was unhappy. But she hadn’t neglected him! He was locked up with his work most of the time—she would have loved it if he spent more time with her and the baby. Still, she didn’t want to fight, and soothingly she said, “I’m sorry, darling. Maybe I have neglected you. Will you forgive me?”
Looking at her for a long moment, he softened. He never could be angry with her for long. She did look tired, and she had been working hard … and he was acting like a spoiled child.
That night they slept in each other’s arms.
Unhappily, after their brief moment of reconciliation they both reverted to their former habits. Harry resumed his total absorption in his work while Lily, adapting to his isolation, became more and more fascinated with Jeremy. Neither husband nor wife admitted that they were drifting apart.
As Jeremy began to crawl and get into mischief, Lily found it impossible to discipline him. Occasionally it occurred to her that she really ought to be a little firmer with him, but he was such an adorable baby, and when he looked up at her with those big blue eyes, she couldn’t find it in her heart to chastise him.
Harry too adored him, but unfortunately spent little time with him. When Jeremy got up in the morning, Harry was sleeping, and Jeremy was asleep again by the time Harry stopped working in the evening. So the little boy got almost none of a father’s much-needed discipline. Harry wasn’t about when the toddler washed his rubber duck in the toilet or painted the walls with lipstick. And Lily only laughed at his antics. On the days when he helped her plant seeds, he somehow got more into his mouth than into the ground, but by the time she could say, “Jeremy, spit those out!” he had already swallowed them.
One morning in November as she sat feeding him breakfast, she was suddenly overcome by a feeling of nausea. Although it wore off rather quickly, the same thing happened again the next morning, and without having seen Dr. Hansen Lily knew that she was pregnant.
Nothing could have thrilled her more.
But nothing could have thrilled Harry less.
“Lily, we just can’t afford another baby right now! You know I’ve been working my tail off, night and day, and I still haven’t been able to make any real money.”
“For heaven’s sake, how much does it cost to feed a little tiny baby?”
“It isn’t just the money. Lily, until I get on my feet, we shouldn’t be taking on any more responsibilities.”
“But I’m already pregnant.”
Harry sat silent for a moment. Maybe he should give up his attempts at writing. Call his father and go to work in the bank. If only the timing in his life hadn’t been so bad. If only he had become established as an author before he met Lily, everything would have been so different. Instead, his lack of success had eroded his confidence and now with a second child he feared he would never be able to take the time off to finish that novel. It was like a conspiracy against him.
As if she knew what he was thinking, Lily impulsively put her arms around him, whispering, “Be happy, Harry. It’s the greatest gift I could give you.”
And it was, dammit! He would never forget how he had felt, holding Jeremy in his arms at that moment of birth.
“I am, darling—truly, I am.”
Suddenly they were aware of Jeremy’s presence as he tugged at his mother’s skirt. Looking down at him, Harry smiled.
Andrew Kohle was born at Mount Sinai Hospital on June 18, 1935. A late spring rain pelted heavily against the windows. That was another omen, Harry thought. His children always seemed to be born when it was raining. But this time he’d insisted on bringing Lily to New York City to stay with Randolph the week before the baby was due. He wasn’t chancing any more home deliveries. He and Randolph were sitting in the waiting room when the nurse announced, “Mr. Kohle? It’s a boy.”
“Isn’t he wonderful?” Lily said when Harry was allowed into her room.
“Yes, of course, darling. But let me tell you, Lily, this has got to be the last for a while. We can’t afford any more children.”
Having a second child made Harry feel his deficiencies as a provider even more keenly, and he wrote feverishly, submitting one article after another.
But something was wrong. Half of the articles he submitted now were rejected. Was he slipping or was he writing the wrong kind of material? He didn’t realize that in his drive to sell his work, his style had become forced and mechanical. Instead of sharing his worries with Lily, he became cross and withdrawn. After every fight he begged her forgiveness, but the tension in the house kept mounting.
But there were other storm clouds on their horizon. In spite of Lily’s care, she became pregnant again. In no uncertain terms, Harry made his feelings clear. She had no right at all to have more children, knowing how he felt. Harry was furious at first, but he knew, on reflection, the responsibility was as much his as hers. Over the next months, his attitude softened. When he saw his new son, named after Randolph, Lily’s favorite cousin, Harry was again filled with love for his offspring. “Oh, Lily, he’s just wonderful.”
“You mean it, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes.”
Randolph himself handed out the cigars proudly, as though he were the father. Secretly he thought the child looked just like him, and when he cradled little Randy in his arms, he almost felt that this was his own baby. Randolph lavished gifts on the child and sent Lily a luxurious full-length mink coat.
Even she didn’t know that he could never have any children of his own. His diabetes had left him impotent and until now he had channeled all his energies and dreams into the Goodhue Rubber Company, of which he was president and principal shareholder. With little Randolph’s birth, he found another outlet for his love and he determined to do everything in his power to see that the child had a happy life.
Although Harry had accepted the baby with love, his obsession with making a living became frenzied. Night after night he sat at his desk until the early hours of the morning. There were now five people to be fed and provided for, and the expenses seemed enormous, no matter how frugal Harry and Lily tried to be. Harry found it hard to be philosophical when unpaid bills were staring him in the face. And the worst thing was that Lily didn’t understand his anxiety at all.
She kept repeating, “We have our little nest egg.”
But Harry knew that the nest egg was inexorably dwindling. One didn’t have to be a Wall Street banker to understand that if more went out than came in, eventually there would be nothing left. Sometimes when he watched her from his window, as she frolicked with the boys, he felt his stomach churn with anger. How could she be so carefree? He decided she could enjoy her family because he had the burden of responsibility for them. They didn’t even share that. And his most crushing realization was that he would never be able to finish his novel; with three children, it was a ridiculous dream. The most he could hope for in terms of a writing career was a steady income from his articles.
Gradually his sales picked up and the terrifying pile of bills began to diminish. But his newfound peace of mind was short-lived. Perhaps it was God’s will, but in spite of her care, Lily found herself pregnant again, scarcely a year and a half after Randy’s birth.
This time there was no controlling Harry’s rage. “God damn it, Lily! How could you have allowed this to happen?”
“It wasn’t my fault, Harry. I was careful! You can’t blame me if it didn’t work.”
“Who am I supposed to blame? I know you, Lily,” he said in an accusing tone. “You weren’t willing to wait a few years, were you?”
“Willing? I didn’t plan this!”
“The hell you didn’t! You’d like to have a dozen kids. Well, I’m not a stud, and I don’t want to be a father anymore! I don’t want this baby.”
“But it’s ours, Harry!”
“I don’t want it.” Fists clenched, he stalked out of the room.
Hearing the door slam, Lily sat on the bed and gave way to tears. When he finally returned, Lily was in bed, pretending to be asleep. She heard him undressing in the dark and hoped that he would take her in his arms, but he eased onto his side of the mattress and turned his back on her.
The next eight months witnessed a growing rift between the Kohles. Since all the precautions Lily claimed to have taken had failed, Harry made up his mind that he was going to abstain from sex altogether. At this point, it was a little like locking the barn door after the horse had been stolen, but Harry was angry enough to carry out his threat. His fury abated only after the baby was born: a beautiful little girl they named Melissa. When they took her back to the farm he did his best to pretend she’d been a happy surprise; but even though he and Lily tried to act as if nothing had changed, there was a rift in the marriage neither could deny.
Lily was absorbed in the new baby, who bore an uncanny resemblance to her violet-eyed grandmother. In a burst of sentimentality, Lily asked Harry if she could take the children to see his parents. To make up for his unreasonable behavior during her pregnancy he acquiesced. Thus began a pattern of visits during which Harry stayed home and worked while Lily took the children in to see Elise and Benjamin. The adults maintained a formal chatter, all three careful never to touch upon Harry’s writing or the fact he never came. Still, Lily felt she was doing the right thing, and she noticed that on her return Harry did his best to spend more time with the children.
There was no question he was enchanted by his daughter, whose smiles could cheer him out of the darkest moods. Unfortunately for Harry, children do not always remain chubby, adorable, vulnerable little creatures who make a parent feel strong and protective. By the time Melissa began to walk, it seemed to Harry that the boys were becoming unruly hooligans. Jeremy was relatively docile, but Drew was a hellion, and Randy was almost as bad. Even dainty little Melissa had terrible tantrums. And whenever he attempted to discipline them, Lily protected them like a lioness defending her cubs.
Harry found it harder and harder to concentrate on his writing. For the third time in as many months they were forced to dip into the nest egg to pay bills. As the bills mounted up, Harry grew increasingly tense. Jeremy, who was starting school in the fall, needed clothes and shoes, and Harry knew it was only the beginning.
There were the constant doctor bills—Lily ran to the pediatrician at the first sneeze, and if one child came down with something, they all caught it.
Harry believed a man’s success was measured by the way he provided for his family, and each birthday became one more reminder that his chances of success were growing dimmer. Luxury be damned! He wasn’t even able to take out an insurance policy for his family. What would happen to them if he died? He shuddered to think about it. And he couldn’t forget that he had cost Lily her inheritance.
With all his anxieties, it was impossible for him to be the understanding, patient father he wanted to be. In the summer, when the children were out of doors most of the time, it was fairly tolerable. But in the winter the constant noise made it impossible to work at all. One day he reached the breaking point. He unlocked his door, jerked it open, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “God damn it, go to your rooms if you can’t be quiet!”
Lily quickly gathered the children up and took them into the kitchen. “Now children, Daddy needs a little peace and quiet. He can’t work with you screaming like that.”
Unused to being chastised, they started to protest. “We didn’t do anything, Mommy!”
As usual, Lily smiled and said, “I know you didn’t. How about if you play hide-and-seek in the attic? But first I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”
It worked for that day, but in spite of Lily’s best efforts, the scenes became daily occurrences. The children were simply not used to minding her, and their games invariably erupted into the hall outside Harry’s study.
What aggravated him most was that he was the one who always came off looking like the ogre.
One night he paced the floor till five in the morning, then lay down on the sofa in the study. Waking after a bare two hours’ sleep, he sat at the desk once again with a mug of strong black coffee. He had just begun a particularly important paragraph when Jeremy opened the door.
“Daddy, can you get my kite out of the tree now?” he asked hopefully.
Harry started, then, in a burst of fury, he caught the little boy by the arms and shook him so hard that his teeth rattled. At the sound of his cries, Lily leapt from her bed and rushed downstairs.
“Harry, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”
Suddenly Harry stopped. Good God, was he losing his mind? Jeremy had done nothing and now he was weeping, terrified, the red, angry marks on his upper arms beginning to show.
Lily picked up her son and rushed from the room. For the rest of the day, the house was unnaturally silent. Lily read to the children and played with them in the attic, bringing them homemade fudge, cookies, and milk to help keep them quiet.
Harry sat in his study, beset by guilt. His failures weighed him down. He was a bad father, an inadequate provider, and a man given to self-indulgent tantrums. He couldn’t forget the look on Lily’s face as she had taken Jeremy away. Here she was, struggling to create a home in this godforsaken place while he did nothing but complain. She said she loved him—but how long would she be able to live with him under these circumstances? His father’s words came back to haunt him: “You’ll see, Harry, how long love lasts without money.”
He felt as if his marriage was indeed bankrupt. He had already taken Lily’s chance at a brilliant marriage, her inheritance, her lovely youth. She had paid for their house, borne his children, worked like a charwoman, and he couldn’t even keep a civil tongue in his head. The time had come for him to face reality.
Harry rolled a blank sheet of paper into the Royal and typed, Dear Father, then sat wondering how to phrase his capitulation.
After the children had been put to bed, Lily came quietly into the study and seated herself in the worn leather chair. Life had not been easy, and just because she refrained from complaining didn’t mean she was immune to the hardships. Yet somehow it didn’t seem all that grim to Lily. She had taken their troubles in stride, happy with the life she had chosen. As long as she had Harry and her children, the rest of the world could go hang. But she no longer could bear to see Harry so unhappy. She, too, had decided the time had come to face reality.
“Lily,” Harry said, “I cannot tell you how dreadful I—”
“Please,” she interrupted. “I think what we have to talk about is far more important than this morning’s scene. You may think that I’m oblivious to your frustrations, but I’m not. The truth is that this house is not quite the haven that I thought it was going to be for your writing. I hadn’t considered the effect of four active children.”
“Even so, I know I should be more patient. Still, it’s hard when you feel like a total failure. Is that honest enough, Lily?”
“You’re not a failure, Harry. I don’t want to hear you say that.”
“Yes, I am,” he returned grimly. “I just don’t have what it takes, or I wouldn’t be in this position.”
Gesturing at the paper in the typewriter, he said, “I’ve been sitting here thinking about what I’m going to say to my father. I’m giving in, Lily. I can’t go on letting my family suffer because of my arrogance.”
“You mean that you would abandon your writing?”
“Writing? What writing?” With a cynical laugh, he got up and paced the floor. “That was a child’s dream. This is the real world, Lily. I’ll never be able to write that book.”
“How do you know you won’t?”
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past six years? Sitting here, beating the hell out of this typewriter, and what do I earn? Five hundred dollars a month. As for the novel, when am I ever going to get to it?”
“Harry, please sit down and listen to me,” Lily said.
Reluctantly, he did as she asked.
“Darling, I’ve thought about this very carefully. I feel that the only way for you to get out of this trap is to be free to write your novel.” Harry began to protest, but Lily interrupted him. “No. Please hear me out. The only way we are going to be a happy family again is for you to finish that manuscript. That’s what’s creating the wall between you and me, and between you and the children.”
“Look, nobody has to tell me what I’ve turned into, and I’m terribly ashamed of it.”
“Forget about that. What’s holding you back are the pressures of having to support us.”
Harry rubbed his eyes. What alternative was there—he was the breadwinner. What good did it do to discuss it?
“I know that you worry about our finances,” Lily continued. “But worrying isn’t going to solve our problems. Let me ask you something: How long do you think it would take you to finish your novel if you were able to work on it constantly, without interruptions?”
“I don’t know, Lily. Maybe a year. I’ll never be able to do that.”
“That’s not true, Harry! I have a plan. I want you to go to New York, rent a room at the YMCA, and do nothing but write until that novel is finished.”
“Really? And what’s going to happen to you and the children in the meantime? How do you plan to eat? Or pay the taxes here, and feed the cow? The roof needs repairing again, and the car needs a new set of tires. There are a million expenses you’re probably not even aware of.”
There was a sting in his words, but Lily realized that this was a moment for truth.
“Darling, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but can you forget your ego for once?” she said gently. “The answer is for me to earn some money while you’re gone.”
“No—” he began, but Lily silenced him again.
“Will you just hear me out?”
“No, I won’t, Lily. Even if I did accept the idea that you were going to support me, what would you do? You don’t have a profession.”
“Strangely enough, Harry, I do.”
“And what is that, pray tell?”
“I’ve made every curtain in this house, and you’ve seen Melissa’s pinafores and dresses, and her rag dolls. And look at the pants and jackets I make for the boys. Do you realize that I made their entire wardrobes? We haven’t bought a thing. And wherever I go, people compliment me on their clothes.”
“So who do you think you are going to sell these clothes to, Lily? Bloomingdale’s?”
“There are all kinds of little shops that sell handmade things. And that’s what I plan to do—all I have to do is manage for a year until you finish that book. Don’t you see?”
Her faith in him was so touching that Harry was at a loss for words.
Finally, with tears in his eyes, he whispered, “Lily, how did I ever get so lucky?”
It was a last-minute reprieve. Here he had been ready to crawl back to his father when Lily offered him freedom to pursue his dream. His gratitude to her was inexpressible. Once again he realized that in spite of her fragile beauty she really was a woman of enormous strength.