Family Secrets (24 page)

Lavinia bathed and fed Paris and covered her with kisses. She hated leaving her with a stranger, but this was an emergency. It was not the time or place to bring a baby.

“Jonah, you can’t wear that tie.”

“Why not?”

“I never liked that tie. Wear a blue one. You look best in blue.”

“You pick it, Lavinia,” he said.

She chose his tie and shirt and suit. Simple and refined. Both of them would be the epitome of what Adam Saffron’s family represented, and then this Etta would see what she would have to be.

The minute she saw Etta, Lavinia knew she was young. Young! What could Papa have been thinking of? They all sat in the living room trying to make polite conversation, all of them dying to ask this Etta every detail of their meeting and not daring to because their interest was so obviously suspicious instead of enthusiastic or even friendly. Rosemary had come home to find Etta right in the house and hadn’t gotten over the shock yet. She sat there with her hands in her lap, her lips tightly together, and didn’t even look at Etta. Hazel was pleased that they were all there and the house was full of life again, but what did Hazel know? Maybe Hazel was lucky to be so oblivious to things. Hazel and Rosemary would have to live in this house with Etta, and it was Rosemary who would suffer.

Andrew and Cassie were being very polite and civilized. No one could do this better than Cassie. She was bringing Etta out with her subtle little questions that were really very pointed. Etta seemed intimidated by Cassie, and well she should be. She wasn’t one bit in Cassie’s class. Lavinia was pleased with the appearance Andrew and Cassie were making.

Melissa sat there next to Lazarus, looking quite content, the little actress. This was her performance, and she was doing it very well. Once in a while she made a flighty remark or asked a trivial question, just to be polite, and because she managed to put Etta at ease more than any of the others Etta answered her easily and soon they knew everything.

Papa had married a thirty-five-year-old coat check girl!

Who had a seventeen-year-old-son, God knows what kind of a scavenger!

Who had no background and no education and had already married one older man who had died, God help him!

Oh, poor Mama, please God there shouldn’t be a heaven where she would be sitting now, looking down on them and crying!

Lena and Letty were in and out of the room serving cookies and fruit and ice water and hot tea. Lena and Letty, who had loved Mama and served her and been trained by her when they came over without knowing a word of English or even how to lay a place at the table. There was Mama’s favorite plate, the one with the blue flowers on it, filled with thin cookies, and Etta was offering it to Basil as if she owned it, holding it daintily in her hand. Etta had nail polish on her nails. Etta had a gold wedding ring on her finger. And Etta didn’t even know how important that blue flowered plate was to all of them, what memories it had.

Basil shook his head and ran upstairs to his room.

“My goodness,” Etta said, surprised.

“Go after him,” Lavinia whispered to Andrew.

Andrew rose and went after Basil, not fast, just casually, as if both of them had been merely going to the bathroom.

“These are delicious cookies, Papa,” Cassie said sweetly to cover the embarrassed silence.

“Yes?” Papa said, pleased. “You like them?”

“These are Papa’s favorite cookies,” Lavinia said to Etta. “Papa likes home-made cookies in the house all the time to nibble on. And for bought cake, the only bakery we ever use is Ebinger’s. We always feel that you should never scrimp on your stomach.” She almost said: “My Mama used to say that,” but then she bit her tongue. Papa would remember who always used to say that.

“That’s what I always tell them,” Papa said. “Don’t save on food.”

When Andrew entered Basil’s bedroom, Basil was sitting there in the dark crying. Andrew stood in the doorway. “Basil?”

Basil choked back a sob.

Andrew didn’t turn on the light; that would be cruel. Poor kid. Basil really missed Mama. He didn’t have anybody. Those women he was always running around with didn’t mean anything to him. There wasn’t one of them he would dream of marrying. He, Andrew, had been lucky. He had the best wife in the world and a lovely little son. But Basil was so immature for his age, clinging to Papa, afraid to assert himself in the office, afraid to make decisions. Sure,
he
worried too, all the time, but Basil was the little brother.

“We all miss her,” Andrew said. Basil didn’t answer. “But Papa is human too, and he must have been very lonely. You have to think of him, Basil, even though it’s hard right now.”

“It’s not Mama,” Basil said. “It’s us. What’s going to become of us?”

“Papa loves us,” Andrew said. “Why, you could get married next week and leave him, and then where would he be? If you met the right girl, would you worry about leaving Papa alone?”

“It’s not Papa,” Basil said.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s the money. She’s going to get her hands on all the money and there won’t be anything left for us.”

“You’re twenty-seven years old, will you grow up? Papa is the smartest man in the world. Nobody, nobody ever fools Papa. Do you think Papa hasn’t thought about the money? Don’t you think he knows Etta’s story? What’s the matter with you? Papa will never let us down.”

“I’m worried,” Basil said.

“Well, don’t you worry. I have complete faith in Papa, and if you don’t too, then you’re being disloyal and a fool besides.”

“Do you think he loves her?”

“Who cares?” Andrew said, because he didn’t even want to think about the possibility.

“Papa loved Mama, didn’t he?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And Papa loves all of us, doesn’t he?” Basil went on.

“Of course he does.”

“Then Papa won’t let her get the money, will he?”

“No, no, no. I know him. And we’re in the office every day. We know everything that goes on. Come on, Basil, come downstairs. You’re being rude.”

When Andrew and Basil returned to the living room everyone pretended that nothing had happened. Melissa was laughing and describing a party she and Lazarus had been to and everyone was acting interested.

At ten o’clock promptly, as they always did, everyone looked at the large grandfather clock in the corner while it chimed, then they looked at Papa, Papa yawned, and they all stood up. Good night, good night, good night. Lavinia and Melissa and Cassie kissed Papa good night, as they always did, and everyone made sure to say good night to Etta, calling her by name so she would be sure to notice they had done their duty and paid attention to her. Then the three couples left.

“Good night,” Rosemary said, as if the words were choking her. They were the first she had said all evening. Then she dashed upstairs.

“Good night, Papa,” Basil said, and dashed after her.

“Hazel, go to bed,” Adam said.

Hazel got up and lumbered up the stairs. She was very tired, but she would stay up all night if someone didn’t send her to bed. She hated to miss anything.

Alone with Etta, Adam looked at her, pleased. “Nu?”

“Nu?” she said.

“Everything went very well,” he said. “Now you know my family.”

She nodded. “So let’s put out the lights and go to bed, Papa.”

Until their marriage she had always called him Mr. Saffron, or else nothing. She had never called him Adam, not even after they were married. Something about him seemed to restrain her. Now she had found the proper and perfect name, and quite naturally, without even thinking, she had called him what everyone else did: Papa. Adam rather liked it.

Yes, he was Papa to his whole family, even his older sisters who had fallen into the habit following his younger sister Becky, who had called him Papa for years, as did her husband. The little children called him Grandpa. His business associates called him Mr. Saffron, and his old cronies from the Center called him Saffron, as he called them Finklestein, Marx, and so on.

Now there was no one left alive who called him Adam.

PART II

Papa

ONE

Now it was not only Rosemary the good soul who made lists; all of them made them, and compared them. They were verbal lists, of course, all of them concerning the lapses of taste of Etta, the grievances and afflictions Etta had brought upon them, their kindnesses and thoughtfulness to her and her nasty responses. Etta buys store cake. Etta gets it at the corner, not at Ebinger’s. Poor Papa hardly ever gets his favorite cookies. Etta serves burned leg of lamb when the family comes to dinner. When Papa gives a party or a get-together for his friends Etta serves her fancy salads, but when we come we get the dregs. Did you notice that last week there wasn’t enough to go around? I spent seven dollars for a bottle of cologne for Etta’s birthday, but do you think she ever remembers one of ours? A handkerchief that must have cost fifty cents, that’s what she gave Rosemary. Not even a card to Melissa. Sure, she gave Paris a doll, but that was the first and last present she ever gave one of the kids, and Papa must have told her to. And do you know what she said to Paris? Paris was running around like she always does, so happy and cheerful, and she said to Etta: “I’m a pretty little girl.” And Etta said to her: “What makes you think you’re pretty? You’re not pretty. You’re conceited.” What a nerve! Poor Papa.

Etta brought her seventeen-year-old married son to meet Papa. Everyone heard about it. She wanted Papa to take him into the business. A langer loksch, a shlump, a nothing. Papa said no. No outsiders in the business. Let him go be a pilot. Stanley his name was, or Sidney, or something. What a nerve! Poor Papa.

Etta can’t buy enough fancy clothes, she has fresh flowers in the house all the time, expense means nothing to her. Etta has two fur coats and a boa. Ha! I suppose that’s the first time she ever had fur on her back. She certainly came to Papa in rags. She said the dead husband spent all his money before he died. There probably wasn’t any money, and if there was, she was probably the one who spent it. Did you see the diamond Papa bought Etta?

Did you notice how Mama’s things are disappearing? Do you think she sells them? Etta said the samovar was too old-fashioned, but I bet she did something with it. We’d better go over there and collect some of what’s coming to us before she gives it all to that son of hers. Remember all those hand-embroidered linens? What do you think became of them? Remember the red vase? I haven’t seen that around for a long time since she came. There are so many things in that house you can’t count them, but I remember what was there, don’t you? What a nerve! Poor Mama.

Every Sunday the family came for dinner at noon. All except Andrew and Cassie and little Chris. They went up every weekend to the country, where they stayed at a nearby inn and Andrew supervised the building of his house and the landscaping of his property. Andrew had been so pleased when he broke the news to Papa. It was at the office, the first day Papa came back.

“Papa,” Andrew said with a big smile, “I have something to show you.” He laid out the blueprints of his dream house on Papa’s desk.

“What is this?” Adam asked.

“It’s my house.” And Andrew babbled on, telling him all about the land, and the good deal he had gotten, and Ferdinand, and Adam felt the shock and pain in his chest like a physical blow and could hardly breathe. “It’s the first thing I ever did on my own,” Andrew said. “I want you to be proud of me.”

Adam could tell that it had never occurred to Andrew that his Papa wouldn’t be proud of him. He pretended to be busy in thought so that Andrew wouldn’t see the pain on his face, and then, slowly, Adam began to ask Andrew questions: was the deal final, what were the terms of the financing, did they intend to live there forever or build and sell, was the house equipped for winter too, what sort of land development did Andrew expect would go on in the vicinity in the next few years, and later on, what then? Andrew was happy to be able to tell him that he had thought of all this already by himself. He planned to live in the house for years and years, probably forever. It was not to sell, it was to love.

Oh yes, Adam knew about a dream and about love. It had never occurred to him that one of his children would do something like this. And that it should be Andrew! He could not, of course, reveal his disappointment and sorrow to Andrew, nor could he force Andrew to sell. This house, this land, was Andrew’s dream, and if he had kept it a secret it was because he had meant it as a surprise—look, Papa, I’m a man!—and not because he was being devious. It had been a mistake not to tell the children about his dream of all of them being together some day on their own land in the country.

Adam nodded finally, solemnly, and patted Andrew’s hand. He wanted to hold it, but he didn’t, he just patted it because it was clenched there on the edge of his desk, the knuckles so white, the hand actually trembling with Andrew’s excitement and need for affirmation. “You’re showing a real talent for the business, Andrew.”

“Thank you, Papa.” Andrew beamed at the great compliment.

“I’ll drive up with you one day and look at your land. You’ll show me everything. We’ll go for the whole day, take our time.”

Andrew fairly glowed. He looked like a little boy again. But he would never be a little boy again. “Any time, Papa!”

When Andrew left Adam took his blueprints out of his desk drawer and sadly inked out Andrew’s name. Now it was necessary to give his plan new thought. Perhaps it would be wise to buy a great deal of land and build slowly, a house for himself and Etta and the unmarried children, a house for Lavinia and Jonah and Melissa and Lazarus and their children, and space for whatever the future might bring. He would have to think about it. Meanwhile he would have to reveal the surprise before he had planned to, but it was imperative. If he had told all of them his plan before this then Andrew would never have bought that land and started to build on it.

He told the children his plan after they had finished Sunday dinner at his house. They were all delighted, as he knew they would be, except for Lazarus, who was worried and grumbled that it would be too expensive.