Roses (36 page)

He peered into the bassinet, and the others joined him. “Isn’t he beautiful?” Abel said. “I may sound prejudiced, but I don’t
think I’ve ever seen a more perfectly formed baby.”

“Go ahead and sound prejudiced,” Beatrice said. “I intend to when ours is born.”

“He’s something all right,” Percy murmured, gazing at the sleeping infant. Not so much as a cowlick of Ollie had found its
way into the physical makeup of the child. He was a Toliver from the narrow, elegant feet to the cap of rich black hair on
the well-shaped head. Stirred by an almost choking tenderness, Percy stroked the tiny palm. Immediately, the child woke and
seized Percy’s finger in a minute grip, fixing his eyes upon him with a glint of curiosity. Percy drew back and laughed, enjoying
the exquisite feel of the small fingers. “How old is this little tiger?”

“Three months,” the parents chorused together, and Ollie added, adjusting the armrests of his crutches, “and he’s going to
have to rely on his godfather to teach him to play ball.”

“It will be my pleasure,” Percy said, still held captive by the tiny hand. “What is my little godson’s name?”

“Matthew,” Mary said from the other side of the bassinet. “Matthew Toliver DuMont.”

He glanced across at her. “Of course,” he said, immediately dropping his eyes back to the child, unable to bear the assault—and
memory—of her beauty. He watched, delighted, as the tiny mouth opened in a pink, round yawn, suckled air briefly, then closed
in sleep. With great unwillingness, he slipped his finger from the soft clutch and left the side of the bassinet to greet
the arrival of the other guests and his wife coming down the stairs.

In a flowing dress Abel had recommended to match the color of her eyes, she was charm itself as she circulated among Howbutker’s
social elite. She addressed Percy as “darling,” slipped her arm through his, and threw him smiles from across the room. He
was not deceived. He understood perfectly his wife’s motivation for presenting herself as an exemplary hostess. This was her
first big party as the wife of Percy Warwick, and plainly and simply, she’d have no one wonder why he had married her instead
of the stunning Mary Toliver. She may not be beautiful, but she was warmer in personality, easier to make laugh, to engage
in conversation. No one felt intimidated by her. She may have been rumored to indulge in quick flashes of temper and salty
language, but weren’t they normal aberrations of pregnancy?

After a brief peer into Matthew’s bassinet, Lucy ignored the child. “Well,” she declared, “I guess you have to claim it, Mary,
what with all that black hair and widow’s peak and all. And look at the chin dimple! Ollie, is there any part of you in this
baby?”

Mary answered for him. “His heart, I hope.”

“Yes, let us do hope,” Lucy said.

The gazes of the two women locked. The former roommates had greeted each other with reserve. No exchange of hugs and kisses
marked their reunion. Now their masks of friendship dropped entirely. A war of sorts was declared in their silent stares.

“Mary dear, perhaps it would be best to take the bassinet into the library and leave the little man to his peace,” Ollie suggested
calmly.

“What a splendid idea,” Lucy said.

That night, when Percy went into his wife’s room to say good night, she remarked from her seat at the dressing table, “Well,
Ollie certainly cleaned up his mud hen nicely, though she’s so tall and stalky, it must be like climbing a tree to fuck her.”

Percy’s jaw clenched. “Mary is five feet seven, which must make you feel like a dwarf in her presence,” he said in a tone
that belied his urge to slap her.

Lucy skewed a glance at him, her expression unsure of whether he’d meant the comment as an insult. “I could tell you were
mightily taken with her kid,” she said.

“His name is Matthew, Lucy. And, yes, he’s a handsome lad. If we have a son, I’m hoping he and our child will enjoy the friendship
that Ollie and I have known.”

“Well, we’ll see about that. I wish you’d demonstrate half as much interest in our unborn child as you showed tonight in Ollie
and Mary’s.”

“The atmosphere around here has not been exactly conducive to that,” Percy reminded her dryly.

“And you think it’ll be any better once the baby gets here? Well, you might as well know now that you are not going to have
much say in raising this baby. This baby is mine. You owe him to me.”

“The baby is ours, Lucy. You can’t use him as a hammer to keep beating me over the head.” Percy was unmoved by her threat.
His wife understood there was a line she’d better not cross. His guilt would serve only so far in taking her abuse. But he
could not fault her for thinking that he had shown little excitement in the coming birth of the baby. Despite their marital
situation, he thought his apathy odd and wondered how Ollie had felt before the arrival of Matthew. He must ask him.

The Percy Warwicks now occupied two bedrooms, giving as the reason to the household that Lucy’s pregnancy required that she
sleep in a separate bed. Percy had no idea what excuse they’d give afterward. He was at the door to leave when Lucy said,
“You just watch me, Percy. Why would I want
you
to have anything to do with raising my child?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” he asked curiously, coming back into the room. “I’m his father.” Like Lucy, he thought of the baby as
“him.”

“Because…” He saw a bolt of alarm light her blue eyes at his calm, deliberate approach, and she got hastily to her feet.

“Because why, Lucy?”

“Because you’re a—you’re a—”

“I’m a…?” Percy prompted.

“You’re a—a
homosexual
!”

For a few seconds, Percy stared at his wife in frozen astonishment, then he let out a guffaw of astounded laughter. “Oh, Lucy,
is that what you believe?”

She set her hands on her hips. “Well, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Have you ever done it before?”

“Yes,” he answered, still in the throes of amusement.

“How many times?”

He did not wish to cause her pain, but he’d be damned if he’d allow her to believe a misconception that she’d use as a weapon
to keep his child from him. “Often enough to assure you that you need have no worry that I may be an undue influence on our
son.”

“I don’t believe you. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.” Slowly, arching her neck to observe him from beneath her
lashes, she parted her robe, revealing her naked body. A slight protuberance of her abdomen disclosed the child to come. She
cupped her swollen breasts in her hands. “How can you refuse these? Every man who’s ever looked at me has wanted to get his
hands around them.” She moved toward him, holding out her bountiful endowments. “Aren’t these lovely, Percy? Aren’t they the
most delicious-looking things? Why don’t you want me?”

“Lucy, stop it,” Percy ordered softy, drawing the robe closed. He did want her. He found her pregnant state erotically alluring,
and he’d have liked nothing better than to pick her up and take her to his bed, there to ease into her and give them both
the relief they craved. But nothing had changed to suggest their lovemaking would be more satisfying, and it would complicate
their situation even more.

She sensed his withdrawal, and her small round face tightened in fury and frustration. She clutched the robe to her tightly.
“You bastard! I’ll never let you near my son. He’ll be all mine, Percy. I’ll see to that. No homo is going to have a hand
in raising
my
boy!
Homo, homo, homo,
” she jeered as he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, shutting out the sound of her pain.

T
he old year ended, and 1922 brought about improvements and acquisitions for the various enterprises of Howbutker’s triumvirate.
In Mary’s absence, Hoagy Carter had managed Somerset with surprising success and brought in a crop that enabled her not only
to pay off her loan at the Howbutker State Bank, but to fund an improved irrigation system for the plantation. The Warwicks
acquired several lumber-related subsidiaries that resulted in renaming the company Warwick Industries, and Ollie DuMont opened
a second department store in Houston.

As the year edged toward spring, Lucy’s figure broadened to cumbersome proportions. She waddled when she walked, and her baby-soft
skin gleamed with a constant sheen of perspiration owing to the unprecedented heat. Housebound because of her bulk and discomfort,
she seemed to draw closer to Beatrice as she entered the final weeks of her pregnancy. Several times, Percy had come across
the two women sitting together sewing baby clothes and talking quietly like old friends.

“It’s so sad to see her when you come into the room,” Beatrice said to her son. “She’s like a snarling puppy wagging its tail.”

“I know, Mother.”

After the party celebrating the DuMonts’ return, Percy fell into the habit of visiting them at the end of his workday at least
twice a week. There had never been any question but that the couple would reside in the Toliver mansion, leaving Abel to ramble
around in the château-style family home at the end of the avenue. At first, Percy had expected a certain awkwardness when
he called upon the couple the Monday after the party, but he was lonely for their company and drawn to the baby, whose image
hardly left his mind. He might have known Ollie would put him at ease.

“Percy, my boy!” his friend had cried when Percy telephoned him at the store. “My hand was on the crank to give you a ring
when the secretary said you were on the line. I wanted to ask you to come by the house and crack open a bottle of something
with me when you leave the office today. Mary may not be able to join us. You know how she is during planting season.”

“Indeed I do,” Percy said quietly.

But Mary was home, sipping lemonade and saying little as she rocked the baby and listened to the men who, within minutes,
were carrying on like old times. Percy perceived that Mary’s reticence was due to her uncertainty of where she and Ollie now
stood with him. He told himself that it would take time for her to be assured that he came only out of friendship. He must
not allow her marriage to rob him of the two people essential to his only happiness. And now there was Matthew, too.

Lucy was never present at these gatherings. She was not invited, and as far as Percy could determine, she had no knowledge
of his visits. The two women had not attempted to see each other after the party, and he decided not to interfere with the
status quo. His wife’s absence permitted him greater freedom to enjoy himself, relax, and make a fuss over the child, who
now recognized him and pumped his little arms and legs in gurgling welcome when he came into sight.

Before long, Mary appeared more relaxed and returned near enough to her old self for them to laugh together and pretend for
the sake of all they had to preserve that their love had never been. By mutual, unspoken consent, they avoided physical and
eye contact, Ollie and Matthew becoming the screens through which each saw the other dimly.

Sometimes Percy would arrive to find Mary still out at the plantation, her absence predictable but nettling. She should be
home with her husband and son that late in the day, he opined privately, but he and Ollie had his godson to themselves then.
Ollie would already have carried the little fellow to the screened back porch to catch the breeze, and he and Percy would
talk and drink while one or the other’s foot rocked the crib.

“Been down to the DuMonts again, have you?” Lucy asked one evening. She was in their sitting room, hem stitching the latest
blue garment for the baby.

He made a wry face that he should be surprised at her knowledge of his visits, since by now he knew that little escaped his
wife. “You could have come, too, you know.”

Lucy chewed viciously at a length of thread with her small, sharp teeth. Percy took pity on her and handed her a pair of scissors
lying beyond her reach. She took them without thanking him, snipped the thread, and said, “To watch you making ga-ga eyes
at Matthew?”

Percy sighed. “Isn’t it enough that you’re jealous of Mary? Must you be jealous of her son, too?”

Lucy’s hands came to rest on her mammoth abdomen. She glanced up at him with a softer look. He’d been standing all along.
He never stayed long enough in his wife’s presence to take a seat. “So all right, I’m jealous. I’m jealous of anything she
possesses that should be mine.”

He felt as if a sudden breeze had fluttered down his spine. He drew his brows together. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded,
more sharply than he intended.

“You know full well what I mean. She… has your friendship, and now her son does, too.”

Releasing his held breath, Percy reached to take her hand. “I want to be friends with you, Lucy, but you refuse to let me.”

She gazed, mesmerized, at the unexpected contact of his hand. “Well, I’ll… try to be friends—for the sake of the baby and
since I can’t have anything else from you.” She lifted her blue eyes, naked with need, to his face. “And I didn’t mean it
when I said I’d keep the baby from you. I… want him to know his father.”

“I know you didn’t mean it,” he said, releasing her hand. “I know you don’t mean a lot of what you say to me.”

Several weeks before the baby was due, Ollie asked Percy if he would drive him to Dallas to be fitted for an artificial leg,
the first of its kind that he was willing to try. “I’d go by train,” he said, “but the damn things are so uncomfortable and
unreliable. I hate to ask Mary now that she’s smack dab in the middle of ginning. She’d drop everything in a minute, of course,
but there’s no need for that, and besides”—Ollie indicated his pinned pants leg—“under the circumstances, Percy, I believe
I’d prefer your company.”

Resentment against Mary curdled within him as sour as bad milk. He agreed that in Ollie’s situation, his assistance would
probably be more suitable than Mary’s, but it galled him that Ollie felt he could not impose upon his wife’s duties to the
plantation. Mary and her goddamn cotton. “How about Matthew?” he asked. “Will he be all right while we’re gone?”