Blessings (17 page)

He stood up and reached for his briefcase. A fit of trembling seized her when he bent down to kiss her. Tears, in spite of all the resolve, lay in her eyes, not falling.

Jay looked astonished. “What is it? You’re crying!”

“No, no. I … it’s just … I’m thinking about us, and it just got to me. I felt … I’m so happy.”

“Good grief! Women!” He laughed, mocking his own stereotypical male reaction. “Can a man ever understand them? Hey, I’d better run, and you too. I’ll call you this afternoon.”

//// won’t go away. Persistent, isn’t she? Tenacious. Like you, Jennie? she asked herself.

She washed the few dishes, dabbed on eye shadow and lipstick, and, still shaken, went to work. It was a relief to know that the whole day was to be spent in the office rather than in court. Like an animal in its den, she thought, I take shelter in my small space, with its desk, books, two chairs, window high above the street, and closed door. The typist answers the telephone and will say I’m not here if I instruct her to. I haven’t done that yet; I’m not entirely beaten down yet.

Jill won’t go away.

Today, of all days, clients came in with children and babies. Poor women, rootless in the indifferent city, they had no place to leave them.

“This is my Ramon. He was two last week. Say hello to the lady.”

Ramon stared out of ink-black eyes, then ducked, hiding his dirty nose in his mother’s skirt.

“He’s a big boy for two,” Jennie said, having no idea how big two-year-olds are supposed to be.

“Yes, and strong. This is Celia. She’s eight months.”

The baby, held in the bend of the woman’s elbow, was extraordinarily beautiful, with delicate features that bore no resemblance either to her mother’s or her brother’s. She gave Jennie a jubilant smile and reached a pink hand out to her, as if in recognition of some shared, joyful secret. Jennie took the hand, and the small fingers clung to it.

“She’s lovely,” Jennie said.

The woman nodded. “They’re my diamonds, my jewels, these two.”

The words rang in Jennie’s memory of ancient history, taken for two semesters at college: Roman Cornelia displayed her children: These are my jewels.

And this woman, too, was tired and dispossessed. She looked curious now, wondering perhaps why Jennie was still holding the baby’s hand. Jennie dropped the hand.

“Well, now, let’s see what we can work out for you, Mrs. Fernandez.”

Late that afternoon, when Jay made his regular telephone call, he had news.

“Good or bad?”

“Both. The good is that the planning board turned down Barker’s proposition. And the credit goes to you.”

Pleased, Jennie nevertheless had to examine things candidly. “They were a good group to start with. As I told your parents, they had probably had their minds pretty much made up before I opened my mouth.”

“That’s only partly true. Some of them were impressed with what you said when they met you beforehand at the house, and some only changed their minds when they heard you at the meeting. They thought you really bested the other side. The vote was close, with two dissents.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“It’s not so much bad as merely disagreeable. My father and a couple of others on the preservation commit—

tee have been getting a series of scurrilous, anonymous letters, mailed from ten or fifteen miles out of town. Dad read one to me over the phone. It was pretty disgusting.”

“Threats?” She thought of the vicious shove at the top of the stairs.

“In a way, but not precisely. Cleverly done, just not enough to pin down legally. But very abusive, all the same. You were mentioned, too, in some of them.”

“I’m that important? I’m flattered.”

“Apparently they feel you are. Obviously whoever’s behind all this is worried about the town council’s vote next month, and they’re afraid you might persuade them. George Cromwell—who’s on the council, you remember—says that Barker has sent in rafts of papers, more of those detailed water reports you spoke about, from a specialist this time, as well as a lot of other things. They’re really worried, he says.”

“But they couldn’t be the people behind those letters, could they?”

“They could, but somehow I don’t think they are. It seems too crude for them to do. And yet, who knows? That’s some rough gang in the town. Fisher’s a prime example, as you found out. And our mayor might well be using him for his own purposes. Don’t forget there’s big money at stake. Big money. Anyway, I don’t want you walking around town alone when you have to return. I’m going to stay with you.” Jay changed the subject. “How about a movie tonight? There’s a great one right around the corner from your place.”

Ordinarily, Jennie thought when she had hung up, this business of the Green Marsh wouldn’t be so disturbing. She would have called it a tempest in a teapot, a bunch of disgruntled locals writing nasty letters—that was all. But she was so tense these days, and it wasn’t like her.

A glass of milk might help soothe her. When she took the carton out of the refrigerator, she dropped it, and a white river slid across the floor. On her knees, wiping it up, she thought, A feather’s touch will snap these nerves of mine.

And this news of Jay’s was more than a feather’s touch, on top of everything else. For even though there had been no further calls from Emma Dunn, the expectation of another one was ever-present, so that every ring of the telephone sounded alarm.

This anxious, expectant waiting was like a fear of falling. Once, a long time ago, she had seen a movie in which a train, having become detached from its engine, began to hurtle down from an alpine pass. Rattling and clacking down the track, slamming around curves, it sped and quickened as it descended, while the passengers, helpless, frozen, incredulous in their seats, too horrified even to scream, stared out at flying pines, angled cliffs, snowfields, tilted arcs of sky, and whirling mountains; stared down to where, thousands of feet below, doom waited. It was strange that she had no memory of how the movie ended, only of the awful helplessness.

Saturday: a difficult, disjointed day whose events had no logical relationship to one another.

In the morning there had been the trying on of the wedding outfit, which Jennie had ordered at Saks. It was only her second experience with what Shirley called “courtier” clothes, the winter coat having been her first. Facing the mirror in the fitting room, she almost did not know herself.

Ruby velvet brought a pink cast to her face, which glowed against her bright black hair. Pleated ecru lace framed her neck and circled her wrists. The skirt lay smoothly on her narrow hips and swayed at the hem.

“It couldn’t be better,” the saleswoman said with satisfaction.

No, it couldn’t.

“I would suggest black sandals, very thin straps, almost no shoe at all except for heels. Very high ones, unless your man isn’t …” The woman hesitated.

Jennie smiled. “He’s very tall.”

“Well, then. And a tiny black bag. Velvet, preferably. Or a very fine suede would do nicely.”

“You’ve been such a help,” Jennie said. “I want to thank you.”

“Oh, you’re easy to work with. It’s been a pleasure. So many women don’t know what they want.”

What I want. A clear mind. And she stared back at the mirror. You there in red velvet, dressed for your wedding, you’re an impostor, you know that, don’t you? You have misrepresented yourself, concealed the truth about yourself, you of all people, you who’ve sworn to uphold the law. You’ve lied, to put it plainly. Impostor!

Under a brilliant sky in motion, with a winter breeze shaking the flags all up and down Fifth Avenue, and the air just cold enough to be charged with energy, she walked toward Bergdorf Goodman, where the girls were to buy dresses for birthday parties and dancing school. Enid would have to show her how to care for these children. All of a sudden the responsibility she was to undertake loomed very large.

They were waiting for her on the ground floor: the imposing woman dressed quietly in gray with two small girls beside her. Sue and Emily stood on tiptoe to be kissed.

“Hi, Jennie.”

“Oh,” said Enid, “is that what they call you?”

“Why, yes,” Jennie said, surprised. “What else?”

“Aunt Jennie, I should have thought.”

“Well, either way I don’t mind.”

Why did the trivial comment start up such a troubling train of thought? In the elevator; upstairs in the chil—

dren’s department, where they’d bought dresses in navy-blue taffeta, in white lawn and flowered challis; later, as they crossed the street and entered the Palm Court for lunch—Jennie saw darting images, like sparks, of Atlanta again, and then the same chilly reaction: Outsider! You don’t belong. Why? For there was really no resemblance between those people and these, between that woman and this. These people had welcomed her! Yet there was something… . They had standards, rigid standards. Their liberalism was for the less fortunate, people from whom less was expected “because they haven’t had our advantages.”

And sitting now over chicken salad, while the little girls’ big eyes were already fixed on the desserts, Jennie was aware once more of that quality of elegant, superior assurance that had been her very first impression of the Wolfes, most particularly of Enid.

No, decent as they were, they would be shocked; they would find it hard to forgive her for starting her life with their son in deceit, with a lie.

The conversation around the little table was light and pleasant. Enid made only brief mention of the Green Marsh affair, just to say that it had grown even more ugly than expected and that it seemed to be the only thing anybody talked about in town. Otherwise the talk was dominated by the children, whose day it was intended to be.

After lunch they crossed the avenue to F.A.O. Schwarz, where Emily and Sue chose a birthday present for Donny, a life-size toy raccoon, an accurate replica complete with tail rings.

“Girls, I should say you’ve had a wonderful day,” said Enid. “And I should say it was time to take you home. You must have plans for the rest of the afternoon, Jennie. With your tight schedule you don’t have time to spare, I’m sure.”

“That’s true. I can always find plenty to do.”

“Well, then, we’ll be leaving you here.” Enid kissed Jennie’s cheek. “Say good-bye to your Aunt Jennie, girls.”

The response was obedient. “Good-bye, Aunt Jennie.”

Jennie watched them walk toward a taxi and thought, They have aunts, but I’m not one of them. Funny, Enid got her way. I don’t mind. What difference does it make whether they call me “aunt” or not?

I said I always had plenty to do, and I have, but I don’t feel like doing it. I just feel like sitting down and doing nothing.

She crossed back over the avenue and sat down on a bench, warmed enough by the full sun to be comfortable. And drawing her coat about her, her hands thrust into the pockets, she sat for a while thinking of nothing special, just watching the traffic pass, halt, and start up again.

She couldn’t have said how, or from what buried cells in her convoluted brain an impulse came, but suddenly it was there—uninvited by any conscious process; not even welcome; startling; perhaps even somewhat crazy. After only the smallest hesitation she got up and began to walk westward toward the subway. Never before having been where she was going, she had to ask for directions. At 116th Street and Broadway, she left the subway and climbed to the street. Barnard was only a short walk away. Surely no one would see any reason to question a young woman who sat on one of the campus benches, ostensibly waiting for somebody.

Nevertheless, having sat down, she felt the absurdity of being there. All right, it’s foolish, foolish curiosity. I wouldn’t know her if she were to stand in front of me. How could I? Maybe she’s that one in the Norwegian ski cap, walking slowly while she reads. Maybe she’s one of that group, gossiping by the door. Yet perhaps I would know her through some resemblance—not to her father, God forbid. If I did see her and was sure that it was she, the curiosity would be satisfied and I’d just walk away. Isn’t she the one person in the world I don’t want to know?

For an hour Jennie waited. Nothing happened. There were neither hints nor clues. Girls, graceful, clumsy, sloppy, chic, dull or vivid, occasionally beautiful and occasionally ugly, passed before her. One thing they possessed in common: youth. You could only wonder what each was going to do with the years that lay ahead, or what the years would do to each, for the world in the eighties, and woman’s place in it, were more complex and difficult than ever. And Jennie’s chest filled with pity and nostalgia, sorrowful and tender.

As the sky went gray, the short winter afternoon turned colder. It had been a mistake to come, an aberration, and it was a good thing she hadn’t recognized the girl. She ought to have known better. And shivering, she stood up and walked back to the subway. There would just be time to shower and dress before going out to dinner with Jay.

How sad it was now to feel unnatural in his presence! Bitterly she remembered how, such a little while ago, she had watched the clock’s hands creep and had counted the minutes until he should ring the doorbell.

That afternoon he telephoned. “Jennie, I’ve got to beg off. I’ve got a fever, a rotten cold coming on. I’m home in bed.”

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I wish I could take care of you.”

“Well, you’ll have that privilege soon. I hear you had fun with Sue and Emily. They really love you, Jennie. I’m so glad.”

“I am too.”

“Jennie?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I want one of our own, yours and mine. Is that okay with you?”

“I’ve dreamed of it so much, Jay, with a cleft in its chin, and your eyes …”

“But, darling, if it should turn out that you couldn’t have any, it wouldn’t matter, you know that too. We’d be together and that’s everything… . What’ll you do with the evening now that I’ve stood you up?”

“Oh, read. I’ve brought some files home from the office. And go to sleep early.”

“Good. Build yourself up for Cancel. Have you got your new racquet yet?”

“Next week. I’ve been putting everything together. Don’t worry.”