Bellagrand: A Novel (43 page)

Ingersol was pregnant again, “our fourth,” she happily informed the two women in heavily accented English. They were hoping for a boy this time. Who said this—Ben, Ingersol? She liked Boston, she said, but could never live here. “I don’t know how you live with the cold and the snow.”

The marionette’s head that was Gina’s nodded up and down. “You are so right. I live in Florida now. It’s sunny, and salty, warm, so much better.”

But sometimes, there’s magic in it.

Did Gina just say that? The puppet blinked, the ice-covered Walden Pond blocking her eyes. They had walked too far and got lost in the woods, holding hands, the skates on their feet, gliding across the ice to the distant shore, perhaps a way out.

Another blink. The puppet nodded her wooden head. All her American life Gina divided people into two kinds: those who loved Boston and those who did not. She was disappointed and yet pleased Ben had married a girl who was the latter. It made Gina think less of his wife. What a blessing.

“Magic in what?” asked a puzzled Ingersol. Ben said nothing.

Oh, disaster! “Sometimes in the snow,” Gina stammered.

Ingersol was pretty, in a soft sort of way. Nondescriptly attractive. Everything was right, but forgettable. Except for the large stomach—that was unforgettable. A pale and weakened Esther eased herself back down into the patio chair. While Ben chatted to her, Gina remained standing, making small talk with Ben’s wife about the weather and the pumpkin fair on the Boston Common and the season for clams (through May). Presently Ben joined the conversation.

“But not oysters?” he asked.

“No.” The string for Gina’s mouth went up, went down. “Oysters now. Oysters only in months with an R in them.”

They laughed, both Ingersol and Ben, at how the puppet on a string could know that, they counted out the months of the year, and delighted some more, and even the marionette bobbed her head, as if she were also laughing. It was Harry who had told Gina this, and he had learned it from his mother. Frances Barrington had been such a good hostess. She always knew what to serve and when. Like oysters. The puppet wondered if there were any oysters in the Mystic River in half-frozen December. Did oysters get that far, swim into rivers like salmon, trying to find their way home? Oh, what was she thinking about! What was wrong with her? This was excruciating.

Ingersol excused herself to go to the powder room. Ben and Gina were left alone, standing two feet in front of a sitting Esther. Gina tightened her mouth and without meeting his eyes smiled like he was the postman. After all, Esther was watching.

“What happened to your voice?” he asked. “You sound hoarse.”

She fake-coughed to fake-clear it. She couldn’t tell him she had torn her vocal cords giving birth. “Just a touch under the weather,” she said.

“So Harry didn’t come?”

“He’s under house arrest until February. So no.”

“Yes, yes, of course. But it’s been good otherwise?”

“Yes, okay, oh, fine. Why not, no, it’s been good. Great, actually. What about you?”

“Very good. Can’t complain.”

“Exactly. Can’t complain.” Gina was afraid even to ask a question. “So are you back for a visit, or . . .” She searched for other words. The only ones that came into her head were
per sempre.
Forever.

Ben smirked. “Ingersol prays every day it’s just for a visit. How do you say just for now in Italian?”

“
Solo per ora
.”

“
Solo per ora
,” he repeated. “We’ll see. A year ago I was invited to be a guest lecturer at Harvard. It’s a big honor. I couldn’t refuse.”

“Oh, yes. Big honor. Harvard? Congratulations. Lecturer in what?”

“The only thing I know. Civil engineering.”

Gina said nothing. She was stuck on canals, and rocks, and explosions. The detonating things in her head were so loud. She couldn’t look into his face.

“Go ahead, say it,” said Ben.

Oh, no! Her eyes darted back and forth across his jacket. “Say what?”

“Do we need another canal somewhere?”

Ah. “No. Or yes? Of course we do.”

She didn’t ask, but Ben told her anyway. “I have a three-year commitment. But don’t tell the wife. She thinks we’re here for only one more semester.”

“The Spanish don’t understand the Italians, don’t worry,” said Gina. “But your wife, she can tell time, no?”

Ben laughed. “Only by the sun.”

“So. No worries then. No sun in Boston until the spring.”

“Right.” His voice was almost even. “No sun in the winter.”

Gina was poured out like water. How was she even breathing? She glanced around for a back of a chair to grab on to. “I’m not used to these heels,” she said, swaying. “I’m having trouble standing in them. I’ve been barefoot for so long.”

“I heard you had a child.”

“Yes. A son.”

“Congratulations. I have three girls.”

“I heard. Your wife said. Congratulations, too.”

“Is he here with you?”

Head jerk from side to side. “He’s too little. Plenty of time for funerals in his future.”

“What’s his name?”

“Alexander.”

“Alessandro,” said Ben. “Is he a good boy?”

“Very good.” Please, to change the subject! “Your mother seems well.”

“And why not? Women have the vote, men can’t drink, we’re not at war . . .”

“And her son is back.”

Ben smiled. “That, too. How is
your
mother?”

Tears sprang to the puppet’s eyes. Ben leaned forward, said
what?—
and Ingersol came back, sparing the puppet a weeping response.

Putting his hand on his wife’s back, Ben stepped away. “You all right, Inge?”

“Yes, of course, I’m fine, darling.” She smiled at Gina and down at Esther. “I do not know if you two have children, but at the end, it is so difficult to move around. I do not know what I do without Benny.”

Benny
. Gina smiled like it was drawn on.

Leaning down, Ben kissed Esther on the cheek, rumpled her shoulder a little. “Buck up, Est. Hey, come on now. What did I say?”

“You said buck up.”

“Are you bucking? Up?”

Esther almost smiled.

“Herman would’ve been proud of you,” Ben continued. “Look how many people came. Seems like all of Boston is here. You’ve sent him off so well. Like he deserved. He was a great man. You’ve outdone yourself.” Ben kissed her temple. “Also the food is excellent. Better than at your wedding.”

Esther laughed. “That’s what I shoot for. That the funerals are more memorable than the weddings.”

Ben laughed with her. “Like I said. Outdone yourself.” He motioned to the food station. “We’re going to get some more before we go.”

Esther patted his arm. “All you want, Ben.”

“But then we’ll head out, all right? Ingersol is tired.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you next week. I’ll stop by on Friday after my seminar. Do you want me to bring some more of that apple cake from Crimson’s you said you liked?”

“That’ll be fine.”

After Ben and Ingersol walked away, Gina sat down by Esther’s side and downed the drink that was next to her. It was strong and revolting, and not even hers. Suddenly she stood, excused herself to Esther, and hurried inside the big house, tripping over her skirt, running down the grand hallway and into the parlor room. She stood at the bay window by the side curtain watching Ben’s back as he helped his wife into the car. He had another car now, a nicer one. Shiny. Cream colored. After he shut Ingersol’s door, he straightened up and turned to glance back at the house. His eyes searched the windows, as if looking for her. Not knowing what to do, Gina hid herself halfway behind the sheer white curtain. But Ben saw her. He smiled and lifted his hand in a wave. She lifted hers. He walked around the hood of his car, got in, and drove away. Gina fanned her trembling palm against the glass pane.
Addio
,
il mio ex amante
.

Four

AFTER THE GUESTS HAD LEFT
, and the servants all gone to bed, Gina and Esther sat in Herman’s study, and to commemorate him sipped his finest brandy out of his crystal goblets. Except for the honeyed wild-guava juice from Cuban rivers and the diluted mojitos, Gina hated the taste of hard liquor. She drank tonight to keep Esther company.

Esther had been tense, silent, clipped with everyone, especially Gina, but even with Rosa. Well, who wouldn’t be, Gina reasoned, on the day you buried your father. Esther had never moved out of her childhood home, not even when she married Elmore. They had lived here with Herman until Elmore left with the Red Cross during the war.

The house was quiet except for the crackling of the wood on the fire. Finally Esther spoke. “Once this liquor is gone, it’s gone,” she said. “Father bought this bottle on the day I was born, his first child. He told me we would open it when I turned eighteen, and then we would drink from it to commemorate other momentous events in my life.” She lifted up the bottle to show Gina how full it still was. “We drank on my eighteenth birthday. We drank when Harry got engaged to Alice. When I got married. We had several drinks when your son was born. And one week ago my father sat where you are sitting tonight, and he and I drank quite a lot of it. He said to me, no use saving it, Esther. Might as well enjoy the finest brandy that money can buy.” She lifted the bottle higher. “And yet look how full it still is.”

Gina bowed her head. “Herman’s advice is spot on. Long ago my mother bought herself a dinner service for four of good china. She said we would use it on special occasions. She had the set for twenty years. We ate off it exactly once.”

“When was that?”

Gina paused. “When I brought Harry home after we got married.”

“Fascinating,” Esther said. “So in your house that was seen as cause for celebration.”

Gina wanted to kick herself. She swallowed. “What a long time ago these things were. Seems like someone else’s life in many ways.”

“Many things were a long time ago,” said Esther. “Then again, some of the things
you
did a long time ago are continuing to cost me dearly in the present, aren’t they.” It wasn’t a question.

Kick. Herself. And hard. Thinly Gina smiled. “You must be tired, Esther. Can I help you upstairs? It’s been such a difficult day. I remember when my father d—”

“It’s
so
glib of you to dismiss the past as the past,” Esther interrupted. “But how far away can it be, really, when at my father’s funeral, which is
today,
the son he gave life to
yesterday
is not
present
? Pray do tell.”

“Oh, Esther,” said Gina, “that has nothing to do with me. He’s not free to come and go. I begged him to talk to Janke again. But you know what a militant she is. She wasn’t going to let him return to Boston, of all places.”

“How hard did he try?”

“He tried.” Gina chewed her lip. “I begged him to try again.”

“Did you?” Esther paused. “Like you begged him to marry you?”

“What?” Gina’s hands became unsteady. She hoped it was because of the brandy. “Of course not. I didn’t beg—” No, there was no use defending
that.
Carefully she placed her goblet on the small table near her chair. No point holding it. What if she dropped it accidentally? Then where would they be? “Esther, what’s the matter? Why would you want to talk about
that,
today of all days?”

“Because my brother isn’t here, today of all days.”

“It’s awful. I’m sorry. I know how you feel . . .”

“Do you? Do you really have
any
idea? Somehow, I don’t believe you do.”

“Of course, Esther.” Gina frowned slightly as she stared at her sister-in-law. “You know I lost my father, too. And I wasn’t nearing fifty. I was only fourteen. I was still a child.”

“Yes, Gina, you keep reminding me you were only
a child when many things happened,” Esther said. “Many things that all have
you
as the common denominator, things that changed the course of my life, my father’s life, my brother’s life.” Esther took a breath. “And Ben’s life.”

“Ben?” Gina wanted to sprint from the room. Oh no.
That’s
what this was about. “Esther, don’t blame me for Ben. Please.” Gina stared to the left of Esther’s face. “Blame me for your brother, fine, but . . .”

“He went to Panama to get away from you.”

“What?” What was happening? Color drained from Gina’s face. All she could do was shake her head.

Esther nodded hers. “Yes. Oh, yes. Do you want me to count how many times you made him run for his life? Three.” To Gina’s horror, Esther held up one finger. “The first time was back in 1900. After he found out about Harry helping you in secret with Salvo’s restaurants. He up and left.”

Gina was shaking her head so vigorously, she was becoming dizzy. “Esther, I was fifteen—I had no idea about anything.”

“Oh, you had an idea about some things.”

“He was always going to go.” Flyers! Lemonade! Signatures! Petitions!

“Was he? How do
you
know? I thought you had no idea about anything?”

“I know because he used to talk about nothing but Panama.”

“To whom? To you? To an immigrant Sicilian
bambina
who didn’t speak four words of English?”

“Please, Esther . . .”

Esther held up two fingers. “Two—the year you and Harry snuck out of the house for your secret nuptials. Have you noticed—everything my brother did with you was in secret? Everything. Yes, don’t even get me started on Harry and you. But Ben had come back to Boston to be his best man—for his actual wedding, the real wedding—and he didn’t want to return to Panama. He was having work trouble. I was very close to persuading him to stay for good. But the minute he found out about you and Harry and your rendezvous with the justice of the peace, he was off.” Esther’s voice was measured, contained. She was speaking deliberately and clearly. She was loud and ice-cold. She was frightening.

Gina opened her hands. “Esther, I didn’t even see Ben when Harry and I got married. I hadn’t seen Ben at that point in five years.”