The Sundial (21 page)

Toward the end of August the weather turned strange; various and unusual phenomena were reported from one end of the country to the other: freak snow storms, hurricanes, hail from a clear sky. Around the big house there were thunderstorms every afternoon, coming with heavy regularity, the clouds beginning to mass blackly on the horizon shortly after four o'clock, and moving with speed until in an hour the sky was black, and, by six, clear again. If the first Mr. Halloran had been alive he might have pointed out that although everyone talked about the weather, no one did anything about it; there were cases of death from heat and death from drowning and death from wind in each morning's newspaper, along with statements that the earth's surface was being lowered into the oceans at the rate of two inches a century; a volcano which had been dormant for five hundred years erupted, blasted its surrounding countryside, and fell asleep again forever.

A woman in Chicago was arrested for leading a polar bear clipped like a French poodle into a large downtown department store. A man in Texas won a divorce from his wife because she tore out the last chapter of every mystery story he borrowed from the library. A television set in Florida refused to let itself be turned off; until its owners took an axe to it, it continued, on or off, presenting inferior music and stale movies and endless, maddening advertising, and even under the axe, with its last sigh, it died with the praises of a hair tonic on its lips.

Mrs. Halloran's crown arrived, and she wore it to dinner. “I expect you will soon be accustomed to seeing me wear a crown,” she said amiably down the dinner table. “After all, it is not the least of the adjustments we will be called upon to make.”

“It is less regal than I had anticipated,” Essex said politely.

“My sister-in-law,” Aunt Fanny told Essex, “has never been remarkable for her good taste or—what shall I call it?—family background; I think that tonight, however, she has surpassed herself.”

“I kind of like it,” Maryjane said. “I wish I'd thought of it first.”

“Like calls to like,” Aunt Fanny said darkly.

“Well, I don't understand
this
at all,” Mrs. Willow said, looking in perplexity from one to another, “I just don't understand all this carping and good taste talk; stands to reason, far as
I
can see, that Orianna here is going to be the boss from now on, the way she's always been up to now, so why can't she wear what she pleases? Well?” She stared at Aunt Fanny. “Been taking a little too much on yourself, haven't you?” she demanded. “Maybe you thought
you
ought to be the queen and wear a crown?” and Mrs. Willow laughed shortly.

“My father—”

“
Your
father—I just guess we've heard about all we can take of your father—we don't even know it
was
your father.”

“Mrs. Willow.” Aunt Fanny rose in white-faced indignation. “Are you suggesting that I am illegitimate?”

Mrs. Halloran put in smoothly, “Aunt Fanny, sit down, please. Augusta, do not speak again without my permission; your warm support makes me doubtful of my own cause. Essex—Maryjane—Miss Ogilvie—if my lunacy takes the form of desiring to wear a crown, will you deny me? May I not look foolish in tolerant peace? Gloria—may I continue to wear my crown?”

“Since you
do
ask me, Mrs. Halloran,” Gloria said, “I think you look like a damned fool.”

“Indeed. Thank you, Gloria, for not troubling to spare my feelings; I wonder if it is not too late for you to join your father?”

“And tell him you're a crazy old lady who sits at her dinner table with a crown on her head?”

“I
wish
you all found my wearing a crown less annoying.” Mrs. Halloran touched the crown tenderly; it was not, after all, of any great magnificence; if she had not persisted in calling it a crown Mrs. Halloran might very well have been suspected of wearing only a plain gold band around her hair. “Gloria,” she said, “you are not to call me a crazy old lady. I am no older than Mrs. Willow, I am certain that I am not crazy, and Aunt Fanny will remove any doubts you have as to my being a lady. In any case, you were discourteous.”

“I apologize,” Gloria said sincerely. “I
am
your guest, Mrs. Halloran, and it was not right of me to call you names. I certainly don't like your crown, but I do not think that I have any right to stop you from wearing it.”

“Are we going to go on worrying about Mrs. Halloran's crown all night?” the captain demanded. “I thought we were supposed to be making plans for the party.” He nudged Arabella. “The last orgy,” he said.

“Wicked.” Arabella giggled.

Miss Inverness was wearing grey taffeta, and Miss Deborah Inverness was dressed in pink chiffon. Both had wide hats, flowered, because they had been invited for a garden party. They arrived early, anxious to admire any preparations which had been made for the party, and got out of the village taxi before the entrance front of the house, were met by Gloria and Mrs. Willow, and escorted along the garden path, past the barbecue pit where coals were already heating, to the terrace where Mrs. Halloran sat in a great chair. Mrs. Halloran's golden canopy had been extended a little, to make it more of a general shelter and less a personal tribute to Mrs. Halloran, but she was wearing her golden dress and her crown. The Misses Inverness approached, hands out, and greeted Mrs. Halloran, Aunt Fanny, Maryjane, and Essex, in scrupulous order.

“It is nice to see you again,” Miss Deborah said to Aunt Fanny, timidly, because Aunt Fanny had been so very distressing the last time they met; Miss Deborah and, to a lesser extent, her sister, were anxious to make Aunt Fanny understand that they bore no grudge; did not, indeed, believe in letting the sun go down on their wrath; “So
very
nice to see you again,” Miss Deborah said, and then, perceiving Miss Ogilvie in the background, “Miss Ogilvie; this
is
nice.”

“Do you like my crown?” Mrs. Halloran asked directly.

“A crown?” said Miss Inverness, bewildered. “I confess I had not thought of it as a crown, Mrs. Halloran. It looked to me like a substitute for a hat.”

“It is a crown,” Mrs. Halloran said complacently.

“Well, I am sure it is very becoming. Although, of course, for general wear . . .”

“
I
certainly intend to wear it generally,” Mrs. Halloran said.

“Perhaps not suitable for everybody . . . But very handsome, nevertheless. An heirloom?” Miss Inverness was puzzled for compliments.

“It will be.”

“Of considerable value, I imagine. I am of course not inquiring the price.”

“Of inestimable value,” Mrs. Halloran said.

“Yes. You carry it well, Mrs. Halloran. My sister and I,” Miss Inverness went on to Aunt Fanny, “were brought up to believe in nobility of character, and to disdain baubles of rank. But we would certainly not impose our opinions upon others.”

“Not, at least,” Aunt Fanny said, “on my brother's wife. Who was clearly brought up to value baubles of rank and let nobility of character alone.”

“Are you still talking about my crown?” Mrs. Halloran asked.

“About your regal bearing, Mrs. Halloran.”

“And what it covers,” Aunt Fanny put in maliciously.

Mrs. Halloran laughed. “It covers a regal position,” she said. “Had you ever thought of wearing a crown, Miss Inverness?”

Miss Inverness stiffened. “In Paradise . . . a princely diadem . . .” she said. “Although my father was an agnostic.”

“It comforts me,” Mrs. Halloran said, “to reflect upon the Misses Inverness inheriting their angelic crowns, but I must spare a moment's pity for the late Mr. Inverness. I remember him.”

“Religious discussion is not for the drawing room, Mrs. Halloran. My father determined his own afterlife.”

“You chide me, Miss Inverness. But I am still sorry for your father.”

“
My
father,” Aunt Fanny said, anxious to avert what seemed to her a rising crisis, “was a splendid man. I recall that he mentioned your father, Miss Inverness, most affectionately.”

“In any case,” Miss Deborah said gently, “it does not look so
very
much like a crown, sister. A simple gold band—”

Miss Inverness glanced at her sister, and then said firmly, “How perfectly beautiful the grounds look, Mrs. Halloran. You must be very proud of them,” but Mrs. Halloran had turned to greet the schoolteacher and Mr. Armstrong the postmaster.

_____

At first the lawn looked pleasingly empty under the japanese lanterns, with the Misses Inverness strolling with Miss Ogilvie, admiring the bushes, and then Mr. Armstrong and the schoolteacher, greeting the Misses Inverness and wandering aside to look briefly on the sundial, and then a group of the villagers who had arrived together in one car, and straggled out onto the lawn. Mrs. Willow turned over her position at the entrance front to Arabella, and joined the captain in the large tent on the lawn from which champagne was to be served. The beef roasts sizzled and splattered over the barbecue pit, and Julia was sent to supervise the setting out of additional food in the second tent, near the barbecue pit. Mrs. Halloran remained in her chair on the terrace, and each guest was brought to greet her individually. Aunt Fanny and Miss Ogilvie began gradually to steer the guests toward the champagne tent, where Mrs. Willow reassured doubters about the intoxicating properties of champagne, which, although largely unknown to the villagers, was, Mrs. Halloran had thought, the only appropriate beverage to serve. The captain, in contrivance with Essex and without Mrs. Halloran's knowledge, had laid in a great stock of beer and this combination, of beer with champagne, may have been responsible for the general feeling of well-being which was spreading swiftly along the lawn.

Essex and Gloria had seemingly determined to avoid one another. Gloria remained at the entrance and Essex hovered over Mrs. Halloran, running small errands and supervising, like a general from a point of vantage, the small skirmishes which made the great movements of the battle on the lawn. When Gloria brought guests to greet Mrs. Halloran she moved silently past Essex, and Mrs. Halloran, amused, noticed each small gesture of mutual indifference, but did not comment.

The general movement on the lawn was clockwise, guests coming down from the terrace after greeting Mrs. Halloran, entering into the circular turn of the crowd, going past the sundial, admiring the view and the japanese lanterns from midway down the great lawn, which was as far as the party had strayed so far, then on into the champagne tent and out again, to continue the same vague round. The Misses Inverness, each having touched a glass of champagne, sat to one side of the general group on chairs provided for them by Essex, and old Mrs. Peabody, mother to the Mr. Peabody who kept the Carriage Stop Inn, had been seated nearby; little groups of people paused to speak to them and moved on.

The villagers, who knew one another intimately at home, now behaved toward one another more formally, under Mrs. Halloran's eye. Mrs. Peabody, who knew to the day which funeral had last brought to public view the blue serge suit of Mr. Straus, the butcher, and why the younger Watkins boy had come after all, and how much Mrs. Halloran had been overcharged for the champagne, was highly amused by the whole party and had been heard to observe that the first Mr. Halloran had always had too much sense to invite the villagers to his house. “And,” she added to the captain, who was bringing her a glass of champagne, “in his time,
we
would have had too much sense to
come
.”

_____

“Baubles of rank,” Miss Inverness observed to a little group. “Baubles of rank and pride of place.”

_____

“My father always took such an interest in all of you.” Aunt Fanny beamed tenderly upon Mr. Straus, the butcher, and Mrs. Otis, who gave dancing lessons. “He thought of you as . . . personal
friends
, I really believe. He was a fine man.”

“A fine man,” Mrs. Otis said obediently, and Mr. Straus nodded heavily.

“I remember,” Aunt Fanny said, “when he first spoke of building the big house, he thought at once of you villagers. ‘We must take care of them always,' he said. ‘They will look to us for guidance and security.'”

“Of course we do,” said Mrs. Otis, and Mr. Straus nodded.

“I think you will have to concede,” Aunt Fanny went on, “that we in the big house have always treated you well. Even now—our only thought in having this expensive lawn party was for
your
pleasure. My father, I think, would be pleased.”

“I am sure he would,” Mrs. Otis said, and Mr. Straus nodded.

“Of course,” Aunt Fanny said, “and believe me, I am most reluctant to bring it up, but of course, you will see at once that, no matter how fond we have grown of all of you, we can hardly,
now
, persuade my father to include you. I am sure he will regret it as much as any of us; I am sure that losing you grieves him bitterly.”

“He was a fine man,” Mrs. Otis said, bewildered, and Mr. Straus nodded. “He was a man who liked a good roast of beef,” Mr. Straus said.

_____

“Miss Ogilvie?” said Essex politely, “Miss Ogilvie as a child was violated by a band of Comanche Indians in a lonely farmhouse on Little Wicked Bend River. It has left her taciturn.”

“Good heavens!” Miss Deborah turned her head slightly to give Miss Ogilvie a quick, fleeting look; “I've known Miss Ogilvie for years,” Miss Deborah said, “and she never breathed a word.”

“It's not the sort of thing one mentions, you know,” Essex said. “
I
only learned it quite by accident.”

“Poor Miss Ogilvie; if we had only known, my sister and I, perhaps we could have done something. Ah . . . comforted her, perhaps. Do you think I might mention it to her?”

“Under no circumstances,” said Essex with some haste. “I believe it would be extremely harmful,
extremely
. After all, the memory has been successfully buried for so long . . .”

“But bringing these things out into the open air—sister!” Miss Deborah called, “I really
must
tell you; Mr. Essex has just given me the most
alarming
information. Poor Miss Ogilvie! And we never knew!”

_____

“I am doing all I can to make your party a success,” Essex said, coming up to Mrs. Halloran on the terrace.

“All it lacks, actually,” Mrs. Halloran said, “is the head of the Cheshire Cat looking down on us from the sky.” She looked from the terrace onto the sizable crowd now moving more freely on the lawn. The sundial stood out clearly, since no one went really close to it, and it stood by itself, a small island, in the moving people. From the terrace the sound of voices was a little distant, murmuring, with now and then the clear round bellow of Mrs. Willow, saying, “The little bubbles tickle your nose,” or, “The drink of angels, I promise you; fit for any king.”

“If we had a Cheshire Cat,” Essex said, pleased, “Mrs. Willow could be the Duchess.”

“As I recall, the Duchess was under sentence of execution for boxing the Queen's ears.” Mrs. Halloran laughed. “Off with their heads!” she said.

Gloria came up behind Mrs. Halloran and said, not looking at Essex, “They sent me to tell you that the barbecue was ready, and everything is ready to be served in the barbecue tent.”

“Essex,” Mrs. Halloran said, “can you communicate with these people?”

Essex came from the terrace down into the crowd. “The food is ready,” he said to Mr. Straus. “Follow the path around to the left.”

“Righto,” Mr. Straus said. “Happen to know the quality of the meat.” He took Aunt Fanny on one arm and Mrs. Otis on the other arm and made purposefully for the barbecue; Essex moved on, urging the Misses Inverness into action, turning people toward the right path, nudging, stirring, like a sheep dog turning a flock of sheep toward the fold: “The barbecue is ready,” he said over and over, “follow the path to the left,” and obediently, the people standing with champagne cups in their hands listened, nodded, and moved slowly and talking toward the barbecue pit and the second tent. “The old lady has done herself proud,” Mr. Atkins from the hardware store said to the schoolteacher, and the schoolteacher, who had never tasted champagne before, nodded hazily and giggled.

“Now come on everybody,” came the great voice of Mrs. Willow, who had tasted champagne before, “fill up your cups, and then eat hearty—it may be the last meal you ever get.” People laughed, and asked one another what was in the salad dressing, and handed around plates; someone gave the schoolteacher a full plate of meat and salad and rolls and two little chocolate cupcakes and the schoolteacher, giggling and swaying, held it precariously for a minute or so and then set it down on a chair and went after more champagne.

“That's a good piece of meat,” Mr. Straus said to Mrs. Willow, and Mrs. Willow slapped him on the shoulder and said richly, “You'll never eat better again, so go at it, my boy.”

“Delicious,” said Miss Inverness, tasting delicately of her potato salad. She and her sister held identical plates, with tiny servings at which they were nibbling with tiny bites. “Everything always tastes so much better out of doors,” said Miss Deborah. She sighed, changing her plate from one hand to the other, and glanced longingly at the lighted windows of the big house.

It was growing darker; faces which had a few minutes ago been clearly visible were fading, so that only in the light of the great barbecue fire was an occasional countenance familiar, reddened and in many cases dirty. Mr. Straus hung lovingly over the man who, white-jacketed and sober, went on endlessly carving thin curling slices of meat onto a huge wooden platter; beyond him the fires flared and spattered when the barbecue sauce went onto the coals, and beyond the fires the silent darkness of the rose garden and the farther trees descended, hiding successfully the youngest Watkins boy and Julia Willow, who had taken a bottle of champagne and decided to skip dinner.

“Cuts like butter,” Mr. Straus said, watching the carver with splendid approval.

_____

On the terrace Mrs. Halloran stirred wearily, eyeing her untouched plate. “I have no appetite,” she said. “Being a queen is a very public penance.”

“Perhaps I could get you a little something from the kitchen?” Miss Ogilvie, hovering solicitously, made little futile dabs at her own plate, clearly unwilling to seem to be enjoying her food.