The Last Princess (10 page)

“You and I can fix it up,” Lily said, excited by the challenge. “Can’t you just see it?”

Again, Harry hesitated. “I don’t know, Lily. That house is listing like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”

“Oh, no—it just needs a coat of paint. And just look at the property.”

The trees and fields were lovely, he had to admit. But the house needed an enormous amount of work. Gradually, though, he found her enthusiasm contagious. It would be the perfect place to write.

“You’ve fallen in love with it, haven’t you, Lily?”

“Well, sort of—but not unless you want it as much as I do.” Putting his arms around her, he said, “I think we’re going to be very, very happy here.”

Harry sat down to work in the city while Lily took the train upstate to explore her new world.

In the general store ten miles from the farm, she found a source of inexpensive calicos, ginghams, and quilts. Visiting attic sales she discovered Blue Willow china and old pressed glass. Best of all, the roadside antique stores offered affordable highboys, four-poster beds, a tall maple rocker, and a hundred-year-old oak cradle. Her most exciting buy, though, was a Singer sewing machine with an old-fashioned treadle. She had never sewn a stitch in her life—but then, she thought, she had never done anything worthwhile. One of her neighbors gave her lessons and soon she was putting up ruffled curtains and pulling up a bedspread of her own making.

But while Lily rejoiced in her newfound abilities, the days Harry left his typewriter he was not much help getting the place in order; he found hammer and nails alien implements. Whatever their high hopes, the house was still far from being ready to move into. But they decided that in spite of the unfinished repair they had to make their move. Ignoring the house’s exterior, they quickly painted the interior walls, scrubbed the floors, laid the rag rugs, and moved in.

On their first night there, Lily walked from room to room happier than she had ever been. The thought of seeing the small bedrooms crowded with children made her heart fill to bursting.

When she placed the rocker alongside the cradle in her newly-painted yellow bedroom, Lily’s heart beat in happy anticipation. Soon enough she would be rocking their child. Harry watched from the doorway at the miracle Lily had wrought with the house. He wouldn’t have given a plugged nickel for it; his aesthetics did not extend to interior decorating, and when Lily had dragged home the various antiques and had raved about patinas, he had been frankly dubious. But today he saw the house with fresh eyes. The living room was mellow and warm. The patina on the mahogany table was magnificent, and an old red leather chair by the fireplace encouraged one to curl up with a book. The walls were covered in a small cheerful mustard-yellow print which set off the richness of the wood tones, and in the center of the room lay a faded blue oval rug.

Sitting at his new desk, Harry touched his old green student lamp and Royal typewriter, vintage 1920, both ready for action.

Just before nightfall, they had carried the last of their possessions from the car and slept for the first time under their new roof. Suddenly, at three in the morning, they were wakened by water dripping on their heads. There were leaks in the roof, and as they ran from room to room, Harry shouted, “Here’s another one, Lily—bring me a pot.”

Then, as quickly as the rain had come, it subsided—but there were ugly stains on the bedroom floor and on two of the beautiful walls in her living room.

“Everything’s ruined!” she sobbed, while Harry rocked her back and forth in his arms as though she were a child.

Looking down at her red, callused hands, she cried even harder. As if things weren’t bad enough, the rain started up again in the morning and continued for two solid days. Lily felt it was the wrath of God visited on her for defying her parents. But when the sun came out again she cheered up. A neighboring farmer patched the roof and helped her repaper the walls and sand the floors. As the days passed, Lily never gave a thought to her work-roughened hands. At the first hint of spring she paid the neighbor and his son to paint the outside of the house and barn; by early March, the white wicker furniture with new cretonne cushions was set out on the porch, the hammock was up, and Lily was content.

One evening at sunset, she and Harry strolled down to the creek. “Everything’s so perfect, Harry,” said Lily, taking his arm. “Don’t you think so?”

Looking down at her he smiled. “I don’t know if every thing’s perfect, but you are.”

Harry had settled into a routine in which he wrote at least four or five hours every day. He was satisfied by his daily efforts, but the highlight of his day was the time he shared with Lily. Despite the work and the rustic setting, day after day seemed a honeymoon to him.

He had decided that for the time being he would set aside the novel and try to establish himself by publishing articles. Despite Lily’s nest egg, he felt that he must begin to earn a living for them, and he hoped that after a while he could do well enough to take up the novel again. But at least it was writing.

His first article was on “Life Amongst Chappaquites in Upstate New York.” When Lily proofread it, she could hardly keep from laughing. The title alone … Well, this was hardly the literary masterwork she had envisioned, but still—it could be a couple hundred dollars if he sold it.

When Harry caught her smile, he asked, “What’s so funny?”

“It’s not supposed to be funny?”

“Of course not! Let me have it back. If you don’t see the point of my work, I’m not going to show it to you anymore.”

“Gee,” she teased, “I think I’ve already had my baby.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’re acting a little childish, don’t you think, Harry?”

“Because I take my work seriously? I did a lot of research for that article.”

Seeing that Harry was really upset, Lily quickly became serious. Obviously he did not have a sense of humor where his work was concerned.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. It was my error.”

But Lily didn’t realize how destructive her gentle teasing had been to Harry’s self-confidence. He was terribly unsure of himself and his writing abilities. He needed someone to reinforce his belief in himself. So it was with increased trepidation he mailed the article to
Collier’s.
In writing, the only test of quality was acceptance, and the three-week wait was agony. When the letter finally came, he stood stunned by the mailbox, looking down at the check. He raced into the house and waved it under Lily’s nose. “What do you think of them apples, Lily?”

“I knew it was going to happen,” she replied calmly.

“No, you didn’t, but I love you anyway.”

In spite of her now huge size, he picked her up and twirled her around and said, “I could very well get the Pulitzer Prize.”

“If not for this one, then for the next,” Lily responded proudly.

L
ILY WAS IN THE
beginning of her ninth month. With the increased size of her belly, almost everything had become difficult, even the trip into town each week to see Dr. Hansen. As her pregnancy entered its last few weeks, Harry became terribly nervous. The idea of a country doctor and a midwife delivering a child at home seemed both primitive and foolhardy.

One night he said, “Lily, I think we should take a cheap apartment in New York until the baby is born. I want you to see a doctor there. I should have insisted on it before.”

Amused by his concern, Lily assured him, “Darling, there’s nothing to worry about. The doctor says I’m built like Guinevere. Besides, he delivers babies at home all the time. Please don’t worry.” She kissed him again but, weary as he was, he couldn’t sleep. If anything happened to Lily, he would simply die.

When Lily’s water broke at four in the morning, Harry knew he should have insisted they go back to the city.

Jumping out of the drenched bed, he cried, “Lily, are you all right?”

“Of course I am. Now be an angel and get me a new nightie out of the second drawer in the dresser.”

“Are you having any pain?”

“It’s a little early for that, darling. Let’s get some fresh sheets on the bed.”

Harry obeyed and asked, “Is it dangerous losing all that fluid?”

“No, it’s normal. Please give me a hand with this gown.”

He helped her change, then stripped the bed, turned the mattress, and remade the bed. Once he had finished, he began to fuss. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I couldn’t be better.”

“Let me get you something.”

“Not a thing, thank you.”

To divert him, she added, “Why don’t you call the doctor?”

Frantically, Harry cranked the wall phone in the hall and waited, feeling the sweat pour down his back. “God damn it,” he muttered when there was no answer.

“Get me Dr. Hansen immediately. It’s an emergency.”

He waited and waited and at last heard the receiver lift.

“This is Harry Kohle, Dr. Hansen. Lily’s in labor. You have to come right away.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I pick up the nurse.”

Returning to Lily’s side, Harry asked, “Are you in pain now, Lily?”

“No, I’m not. Darling, why don’t you just calm down?”

“I am calm. Now, can’t I get you something?”

“No, no, nothing. But I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you boil some water and fix a pot of coffee. Maybe you could also start the fire.”

“A fire? Are you cold?”

“Er … just a little.”

After tucking the blanket in for her he left, and she heaved a sigh of relief.

As he pumped the water into the pot, he looked out the window. A gray dawn shot through with lightning was breaking. Noticing the heavy clouds on the horizon, he shivered; he hoped they weren’t in for a storm. His fears were interrupted by the coffee boiling over. The forecast was for clear weather. Harry chided himself for letting his imagination run away with him.

He poured coffee for Lily and took the cup back to their room, then kindled a fire in the grate.

“It tastes awfully good, Harry,” she said.

Suddenly he heard a clap of thunder, followed almost immediately by a torrent of hail. He had been right about those thunderclouds! How would the doctor ever get through? The storm raged on, and as the minutes became hours, Harry became increasingly frightened as Lily’s contractions grew closer together. Her quiet reassurance ceased as the pain became excruciating. All he could do was pray as he watched her digging her nails into her palms.

“Squeeze my hand, Lily. No, harder.”

Eight hours had passed since Lily’s water had broken, and there was still no sign of Dr. Hansen. He lived twenty-five miles away, and Harry knew that in a storm like this the roads were probably impassable. He tried calling again; the line was dead, and he hung up cursing himself for not insisting that Lily have this baby in New York City.

As for Lily, she no longer cared about being valiant or courageous; she only prayed for the agony to end.

As Harry wiped her forehead with a damp cloth, she finally screamed, “It’s coming! It’s coming!”

More terrified than he’d ever been in his life, Harry guided the infant into the world with shaking hands. Hearing its first cry he looked with awe at the tiny creature he and Lily had created. Lily reached out her arms and he gently gave her the baby. She had dreamed of this moment for so long, and now it was a reality.

“How are you, Lily?”

Smiling up at her husband, she murmured, “Happy, so happy.”

The phone rang, making them both jump. When Harry picked up, Dr. Hansen was on the line. “I’ve been trapped in a ditch for hours. They just pulled us out. Tell me, how is Lily?”

“Thank God, she’s fine. We had a little boy about a half-hour ago.”

“Well, congratulations! It seems you didn’t need me after all.”

“You were needed. In fact, it’s a miracle everything’s okay. How soon can you get here to check up on Lily?”

“I’ll start right now.”

Later Harry called Randolph. “We have a son,” he bragged.

“Oh my God! Beautiful Lily is a mother. Have you decided on a name?”

“Jeremy Anton Kohle.”

“Well, give Lily my love, and tell her that I’ll be there to see her tomorrow. That’s not too soon, is it?”

“No, please come. We’d love to see you.”

Bright and early the next morning, Randolph arrived, carrying a huge box four times Jeremy’s size, and loads of other gifts as well.

Lily told him, “If it weren’t for you, I would never have known this joy—my wonderful husband and my beautiful child.”

“You deserve all the happiness in the world, Lily dear. I have to confess that I had my doubts about your marriage, but it obviously suits you. I just want you to know that if there’s ever anything I can do for you, financially or otherwise …”

Quickly Lily said, “Oh, no. Harry and I are getting along just fine.”

“How is the writing coming?”

“Marvelously. He just sold an article to
Redbook.”

“Why, that’s great!” Randolph said, a shade too heartily. “What’s it about?”

Lily was suddenly vague. “Oh, you wouldn’t be interested.”

“Yes, I would.”

“Well …,” she said haltingly, “he wrote it under a pseudonym.”

“Come on, give.”

She started to laugh. “I think it’s Daisy Keller.”

Following the Jewish tradition Harry had Dr. Hansen circumcise his son, but it wasn’t a religious ceremony and Harry felt bad both for his child and for his parents.

Ever since Jeremy’s birth he had been thinking about his mother and father. He had had no contact with them since the fateful morning in his father’s study, and over the months he had secretly mourned their loss. What purpose did religion serve if it made people lack compassion? But apparently nothing was of greater importance to Benjamin and Elise Kohle than their beliefs.

Even though Harry expected that it would be an exercise in futility, his joy in his son was so great that he felt he had to share it with his parents, or at least try to.

Seated at his desk one night after Lily was asleep, he wrote to tell them about the baby.

Dear Mother and Father,

Seven days ago, Lily and I became the proud parents of Jeremy Anton Kohle. He is the loveliest little boy in the world.

In light of this joyous event, I wonder if we might not find it in our hearts to lay aside our anger. I understand your beliefs and I respect them. But the happiness we could have together as a family seems so much more important at this time.

I want so much for our son to see his grandparents. It would mean a very great deal to Lily and to me, and to our child.

I have missed you greatly, and thought about you so often. I regret that I have not lived up to your expectations, but I am terribly happy with Lily and now with our son.

Please let me share our joy with you.

With all my love,

Harry