The Last Princess (15 page)

Harry dropped his suitcase and held her in his arms, kissing her passionately.

“It seems like an eternity,” he whispered huskily. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”

“It has been an eternity—I don’t want you to go away ever again.”

“I won’t ever leave you.”

It had been so many months since Harry had seen the children. God, how tall they had grown!

Gathering them to him, hugging them, he said, “I’m so happy to see you.”

They didn’t respond with quite the enthusiasm he had expected. Hadn’t they missed him? It bothered him for a moment, but then he thought, Well, you can’t have it both ways. You can’t go away from children for a year and a half and expect a rousing welcome when you come back.

Picking up Melissa, he kissed her. “You look beautiful, baby.”

“I’m not a baby,” she announced, frowning.

“You’re my baby.”

“No! I’m Mommy’s baby.”

He was slightly taken aback. Dammit, the children saw him as a stranger, an outsider. Could he ever make up for this lost time?

As they drove down the dirt road to the farm, snow began to drift down gently. The trees already seemed an enchanted forest. Harry saw the beauty of it all so clearly today, as he never had before.

Once they had slowed and halted before the house, Jeremy struggled with his father’s bag while Harry carried Melissa.

Looking up at the house, Harry stopped short, then broke into gales of laughter. Above the porch, the children had hung a large sign in multicolored block letters reading
“WELCOME HOME DADDY.”
They’d attached crepe-paper streamers for a festive touch. What a homecoming!

Blinking back the tears, he smiled at his sons, then at Melissa in his arms. He had almost forgotten how adorable she was. He could have taken a bite out of her rosy red-apple cheeks. How precious she looked with the snowflakes tangled in her eyelashes.

Later he sat in the living room while Lily went to get dinner on the table. The two older boys were looking at him expectantly.

Determined to be the father he had vowed to be, he asked Jeremy, “Tell me about school, son. You must be a fine reader by now.”

Jeremy looked at his father with mingled guilt and fear. He hated being asked that question. No matter how hard he tried, he was simply awful.

“I don’t read very well!” he said desperately.

“Oh, I don’t believe it. Why don’t you get your book and show me?”

Jeremy hesitated for a moment. Then, with dragging steps, he went into his bedroom and brought back his school primer.

“Come on, hop up in my lap,” urged Harry.

Haltingly Jeremy began, “S-s-”

“Oh, come on,” Harry prompted. “You must know that. See …”

Obediently, Jeremy repeated, “See. D-d—”

Impatiently, Harry finally said, “See Dick. Jeremy, that’s the first page, for goodness sake. Don’t you know that? What have they been teaching you in school?”

But the more he prodded Jeremy, the more nervous the little boy became. Even the words he recognized suddenly looked like gibberish to him, and he was acutely aware of his father’s exasperation.

“I just can’t do it, Daddy,” he finally said, bursting into tears.

“Of course you can—you’re in the second grade! You should be able to read this whole book by now. What’s wrong with you? Don’t you study?”

Wailing, Jeremy ran into his bedroom and slammed the door. Harry was dumbfounded. Jeremy was a bright boy. It was quite obvious that Lily had allowed him to drift into bad habits, but now that he was home, that was all going to change.

Harry marched to the bedroom and knocked briefly on the door, then went in to find his son facedown on the bed, weeping.

“Come on, Jeremy,” Harry said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Stop that—you’re a big boy.”

Turning, Jeremy put his arms around his father and sobbed. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I do try hard.”

Homecoming was not a time for discipline. “Okay, son. But now that I’m home, we’re going to work on that reading of yours, and you’ll soon be going like a house afire. How about a piggyback ride?”

Jeremy managed a weak smile, but when they returned to the living room, the other children were very quiet. Secretly, Randy gloated at Jeremy’s discomfiture. Jeremy had always gotten most of the attention from Mommy—unless Drew was getting into trouble or Melissa was screaming—and now he felt that things were being evened up. With a child’s clarity, Randy realized that he was somehow overlooked, and he resented it furiously. Jeremy was a dummy—he’d heard the other kids calling him that. Why, he himself was already learning to read, and Drew had known how for a long time.

Drew, on the other hand, was angry and upset with his father for chastising Jeremy. Didn’t he know that his brother didn’t like to be yelled at? Jeremy did try to read. Drew wanted to punch his father and tell him, “Go back to New York.”

Meanwhile, as soon as Jeremy had begun to cry, Melissa had gone running to her mother, crying that she didn’t “yike” Daddy at all.

Harry was mystified. What had gone wrong? Lily came in now, saying, “Children, go wash your hands. Dinner is ready.” It was rather like a reprieve.

Harry carved the roast leg of lamb, and Drew passed the glazed carrots in the Blue Willow dish. Whatever unpleasantness had just transpired was past. The meal was the best Harry had had since he’d left for New York. No wonder Lily had been able to sell her wares. Her pickled watermelon and her mint jelly were ambrosia, the jam on the homemade bread heavenly.

The
pièce de résistance
was peach cobbler, accompanied by aromatic black coffee, which somehow tasted so much better than the bitter brew from his Thermos. As he finished the last bite, he commented, “Lily, a perfect meal. It’s hard to believe that once you didn’t know how to boil an egg.”

It wasn’t until later that he realized that the meal had been a rather silent affair. God, Jeremy was sensitive! But all of them seemed so subdued.

As soon as they had eaten, Drew asked, “Mommy, can we play in the attic?”

But Lily had replied, “No—:we’ve had a big day, and now it’s time for bed. Kiss Daddy good night, and I’ll come to tuck you in in a few minutes.”

There was a shuffling of feet as the children looked at each other, wondering who had to go first. Then Jeremy timidly reached up and brushed his lips against Harry’s cheek, and Randy dutifully followed suit.

But when Drew came to stand by him, Harry saw an unexpected look of belligerence on the little face. And Melissa unequivocally refused, shrinking away and yelling “No!” as she wriggled out of his grasp.

After she had tucked in the children, Lily put on an apron and began to rinse the dishes. Watching her, Harry saw her as if for the first time. The children forgotten, he put his arms around her.

“How did I ever get along without you?”

He untied her apron, picked her up, and carried her down the hall to their room, then kicked the door shut. He unbuttoned her dress and kissed her with searching intensity. Their enormous need was so great they made love with a hunger neither had ever felt before. It was their most incredible coming together yet, and nothing existed outside their room….

In the morning, as Lily and he sat alone at breakfast, drinking the last of their coffee, Harry said, “You know, actually, Lily, I felt a little bad yesterday.”

“Why, darling?”

“Well, I just didn’t realize that Jeremy was so sensitive about not being able to read.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Oh, there was a bit of a fuss when I asked him to read to me, and he couldn’t. You know, Lily, he should be reading at his age. He’s in second grade.”

“Oh, Harry, I wish you hadn’t said anything to him. He’s coming along, but he’s just a little slow.”

Forgotten were the vows of patience and understanding that Harry had made so fervently. As though there had been no interruption in their marriage, he quickly shot back: “Slow? That’s ridiculous, Lily! Drew was reading even before I left for New York.”

“Yes, but Jeremy isn’t Drew. He doesn’t catch on as quickly as Drew—can’t you realize that?”

“That’s not true! You’ve just coddled him, and the net result is that he hasn’t achieved up to his abilities.”

“He’s just an average child.”

“Who told you that? His teachers? Then they’re no good.”

“You’ve been away and you don’t know. I’ve spent time with his teacher, and she’s very good.”

“Well, darling, then the problem is he won’t work.”

This wasn’t the way to begin their reunion, Harry knew, but dammit, he was upset about Jeremy. Lily insisted that the children had different needs and abilities, but he didn’t think the issue was as complicated as she made out. Finally, Harry conceded that Lily had seen more of the children than he had for the past year and a half, and that he would wait and see.

For the next few weeks, Harry made a great effort to observe the children through Lily’s eyes. Drew was doing fine in school and so was Randy, but Jeremy was at the bottom of his class, and Harry was baffled. Either he wasn’t motivated or, as Harry suspected, he had simply become a mama’s boy. Because of his worry, Harry found himself becoming a stern disciplinarian. If he had to be tough to force Jeremy to achieve, that was what he would be. He had come home ready to assume his place as head of the house.

H
ARRY REFUSED EVEN TO
consider Lily’s proposal to continue with her sewing and canning. She had done nobly, but now that
The Wars of Archie Sanger
was finished, he was not about to live off his wife. He started writing articles again, but uppermost in his mind was Archie Sanger. Finishing the novel had seemed like the biggest hurdle, but now he realized that a far greater one was finding a publisher. He knew that the first stage was finding the right agent. With little publishing experience, he felt as if he were looking for a needle in a haystack. Here he had written a 2,000-page manuscript and had no idea what to do with it.

However much he might delude himself in other areas of life, he was harshly critical of his own work and he knew he had written a good book.

The problem was that he needed to sell the book fast to support his family. He decided the only way to choose an agent was to contact several at once.

Harry drove into the city early one morning and went straight to the public library, where he asked for a copy of
Literary Market Place
. Going down the list, he felt as if he were picking horses without a racing form, but he copied down twenty-five names and addresses at random. That night, back at the farm, he sat down and tried to frame a letter.

His instinct told him that he should not give away too much of the story; just enough to whet their appetites. Finally, after several tries, he came up with a draft that seemed to satisfy all the requirements. Then he laboriously copied it over twenty-five times, addressed the envelopes, and drove down to the village to post them. His mouth was dry and his confidence wavered as he stood in front of the box. Then, before he could change his mind, he opened the lid and dropped the sealed envelopes inside. Would anyone respond? Or would they all take his carefully framed letter and file it in the closest wastepaper basket?

He drove back to the farm, walked up the gray wooden stairs and then down the hall to his study. He couldn’t even share his fear with Lily; it was imperative that he appear positive, and he was relieved that she and the children were still out.

He had half an hour to himself before he heard Lily call out, “We’re back!”

He got up and went into the kitchen. Smiling broadly, he said, “How was your walk?”

“See what I found?” Melissa chirped, holding up a small spray of pine cones.

“That’s beautiful,” he replied, lifting her up in the air. “But not half as beautiful as you are.”

“Okay, children,” Lily said. “Now scat. Go play while I make dinner.”

Seating himself at the table, Harry watched as she began to prepare their meal. She worked so hard. He prayed to God that the book would sell so he could give her the break she deserved.

Shortly thereafter, the aroma of frying chicken and baking cornbread wafted from the stove.

As they seated themselves, Lily smiled and asked, “How did your day go, dear?”

“Fine—just great,” he answered. “I sent off twenty-five letters to what are, I hope, the best agents in New York. So now all I have to do is sit back and wait for the offers to pour in.”

“Hip, hip, hooray!”

Melissa liked the sound of that and chimed in, “Hip, hip, hooray, Daddy!”

“That’s right, Melissa. That’s what they’ll say the minute they read Daddy’s book.”

After four weeks of waiting, he finally received a response. Ripping the envelope open, he read,

Dear Mr. Kohle:

If you will submit an outline or the first hundred pages of the manuscript, we will be happy to read your work.

Best,

Ellis Knox

Wasting no time, Harry bundled up the first hundred pages of his precious manuscript and mailed them. Then he steeled himself for another long wait while he forced himself to churn out popular articles. Enough editors knew him as a reliable source of well-written filler that he knew he could support his family for the time being. But after six weeks of silence, he decided to write again to Ellis Knox, stating that since he had received no response, perhaps Mr. Knox had been unable to reach a decision on the first hundred pages. Consequently, he was enclosing the rest of the novel. Harry knew it was insanity to send the whole. It was foolish to risk offending one so lofty as Ellis Knox. Then again, what did he have to lose?

Again, he went to the post office in a state of high anxiety. If he had only known what had been happening at Ellis Knox, Literary Agents, his fears would have been allayed.

Harry had been extraordinarily lucky in his choice of agent. Ellis Knox was unusual in that he looked at every piece of work that passed his assistants’ initial screening. In the final analysis, he wanted to make the decisions. But that meant that there was often a considerable backlog on his desk, and the first hundred pages of Harry’s manuscript had gathered dust for almost four weeks. However, as soon as he had read the first pages, he realized that he had found a unique new voice. He had been at the point of dictating a letter to Harry Kohle when his secretary had staggered in with the rest of the script. Ellis felt a curious thrill when he saw the entire manuscript. Picking up the next hundred pages, he read with an increased sense of reverence. “Judy, hold my calls for the rest of the day,” he shouted into the intercom.