After the Loving (5 page)

Their laughter echoed through Harrington House as they raced down the hall, free of pent-up tension and inhibitions, open to each other. He found the makings of sandwiches on a platter in the refrigerator. “Like your bread toasted?” he asked her.

“Yes. Thanks.”

He made turkey sandwiches, ham sandwiches and tuna-salad sandwiches, stacked them on a platter, cut some sour pickles, added jars of mustard and horseradish and headed for the breakfast room. “You put out some plates while I get us a couple of bottles of beer. Okay?”

She found place mats and set the table. If anyone had told her that she would be sharing these idyllic moments with Russ, seeing the loving and tender side of him, she might have accused them of idiocy. Yet, although she believed that the wit, tenderness and gentleness he’d showed her defined him as truthfully as did the tough, stoic and solitary side of him, he had not yet acknowledged their passionate exchange, and she wondered if he ever would.

“I’m not going to question it,” Russ said to himself, as he searched in the bottom of the beer and soft-drink chest for two bottles of Czech Pilsner beer, his favorite. “I’d been dying to do that since I met her.” He reached into his back trouser pocket for a handkerchief and wiped perspiration from his forehead. “Whew! She hit me like a speeding train. I may regret it later, but right now, I’m not sorry.”

He walked back into the breakfast room in time to see her nearly trip on the edge of the Turkish carpet his mother fancied and which Alexis brought up from the basement to brighten the room. He rushed to support her.

“Why do you wear those things?” he asked of her spike-heeled shoes. “It’s a wonder you don’t fall and kill yourself.”

“The world loves tall, slim people,” she told him. “I’m not slim, but the shoes make me look taller.”

He bit into a ham sandwich and chewed the bite carefully before helping it down with several swallows of beer. “They don’t make you taller. Some women put their hair up on top of their head thinking that adds height. Neither makes a speck of difference, so why not be comfortable and—” he told himself to say it even if she got mad “—why not accept yourself? If you don’t love yourself, it’s damned near impossible for anybody else to love you.”

She removed the top slice of bread from the turkey breast sandwich and scraped the mayonnaise off the remaining slice. When she didn’t look at him, he knew he had touched a sensitive spot.
“Don’t smooth it over,”
he cautioned himself.
“This is an issue between us, and if she doesn’t solve it, we’re not going anywhere.”

“You want me to believe that a man like you who can have any woman that appeals to him is so different from all the rest—that these tall, willowy women like Alexis aren’t
your ideal, the kind you want? You honestly expect me to believe that?”

He put the sandwich aside, leaned back in his chair and looked hard at her. “Whether or not you believe that is immaterial to me. They’re your words, not mine.” He pointed to her plate. “You ate hardly any breakfast, so you’re half-starved, and look at what you’re doing to that sandwich.”

“I don’t like not being able to wear pretty clothes, so I’m going to lose weight.”

He felt for her and deeply so, but he knew it was unwise to express it. “To me, at least, you’re a beautiful, charming and witty woman,” he said, “but if you want to change yourself into someone I won’t recognize, well…it’s your body and your life. I wish you luck.”

She put the glass of beer on the table, untasted. “Those are the nicest…the most endearing words that I remember ever having heard. Thank you.”

“But you don’t believe them.”

“I know you mean them.”

“But I’m either blind or I’ve got poor judgment, right?” That kind of talk would solve nothing. He poured the remainder of her beer in her glass, cut a turkey-breast sandwich in half and put it on her plate. When she looked at him with an appeal, an entreaty, he removed the top slice, scraped the mayonnaise off the bottom slice as she had done earlier, and set it in front of her.

“Even if you want to lose weight, don’t damage your health.”

Her smile, radiant and grateful, affected him like a shot of adrenaline, and he wanted to get her back into his arms and try to soothe away her concerns. However, he wanted to communicate to her trust, caring and reasons why she could hold her own with any woman. He cleaned the table,
put the dishes in the dishwasher and left the kitchen as he found it.

“You’re neat,” she said.

He couldn’t help laughing. If Telford, Drake and Henry had heard that, their opinions of Velma would have plummeted. “Neatness is something I never expected anybody to accuse me of. I straightened up the kitchen because I wouldn’t like to eat cabbage stew for dinner tomorrow night. That’s Henry’s favorite form of punishment. Let’s go in the den.”

He motioned for her to sit in the big brown wing chair, and he sat opposite her on the sofa. “What was it like growing up with Alexis and your parents? You’ve told me that your home life was unhappy. How did you and Alexis manage to come out of a dysfunctional home as the women you are—educated, successful, professional and refined? You are interesting women. How’d it happen?”

“I’m fifteen months older than Alexis and, even with that little difference, I was protective of her. Our mother taught us how to be ladies, but not how to be women capable of dealing aptly with life. I’m not sure she knew. Our father evidently didn’t think it his responsibility to nurture us. He left the house and us children to our mother and, as I look back, that was a principal source of their never-ending battles. Alexis and I got love from each other. She’ll tell you they loved us, but she has never made me believe it.

“I think I told you that our mother ran out of the house one winter night, escaping the bickering, and froze to death. Before the funeral, Father left us a note saying he was going to Canada, but didn’t include an address. A man who’d do that didn’t love his daughters.”

“You can’t be sure of that, because you don’t know the measure of the guilt he felt. How old were you?”

“Eighteen. I’d just finished high school, and Alexis was
in her senior year. We sold the house and everything in it to pay for our college educations. If there had been a will, we might have had a nest egg, but the state took a huge chunk of it. One of these days, I’m going to confront that man.”

He understood her bitterness, but he didn’t believe in letting such things clog his thinking or his outlook. “Let it lie, Velma. Harboring ill feelings against anyone is like filling yourself with poison. Try to drop it.”

“That’s what Alexis tells me, but she’s a Quaker, and it seems to give her a peacefulness that I wish I had.”

“Your father let you down, but you emerged like a newly minted platinum disc. A lovely woman. Forgive him.” He looked at his watch. “I’m going to check on Tara, Henry and Biscuit. That little dog trails Tara every place but school. Thanks for the pleasant company. See you at dinner.”

He put on his mackinaw coat, a pair of old boots and a woolen cap, got his rifle and a pair of gloves and headed down the hill to Henry’s cottage.

Tara opened the door. “Hi, Mr. Russ. We were going to the house as soon as Mr. Henry finished feeding Biscuit. Mr. Henry gave Biscuit a red sweater so he won’t get cold.” He lifted her, walked into the house, and for the first time, he kissed the child’s cheek.

“Biscuit is a lucky little pup,” he said, wondering what had just gotten into him. “Henry, it’s snowing harder than we’d thought, so why don’t you come prepared to spend the night over at the house?”

“I was thinking I’d do that.”

Russ realized he was still holding Tara and set her on her feet, but a strange feeling pervaded him, shocking him. He shook his body as a bird flexes its wings after a bath. For the first time in his life, he had a yearning for a child of his own.

B
ack in her room, Velma stared at the blue caftan that she had begun to alter before Russ altered
her
. Until the previous evening, he’d never seen her in anything but a caftan, and that hadn’t stopped him from liking her and wanting her. She was damned if she’d ruin her dress. She hung it up. If he didn’t want to look at her in her green silk caftan, she’d eat her dinner in the kitchen. From the window she saw that the snow had become heavy, and recalled the Christmas Eve just past, the happiest Yuletide of her life. She had thought that night that Russ would at least kiss her with the passion that she knew he felt, but he had settled for putting his arm around her and resting her head against his shoulder.

That night, the Harrington men had sat around the Christmas tree and the lighted fire in the den, each with a woman, along with Henry and Tara in an idyllic family celebration. Everyone, including her, had thought that the men would pair off for the night with their women, but
Russ had walked up the stairs with her to her room, kissed her cheek and told her good-night. And it was clear to her the next morning that Drake did not spend the night with Pamela. Three extraordinary men governed by their own counsel. She heard the voices on the lower floor, and rushed down to greet Tara.

“Auntie Velma, do you want to hear me play the piano? Mr. Henry gave me my piano, and Mr. Telford teaches me how to play it.”

“You’re gonna have to stop calling Tel Mr. Telford,” Henry said.

“I know. Soon as he comes back, I’m going to call him Daddy.”

“Hadn’t you better ask your mother about that?” Russ asked. “You have a daddy.”

“I know, but I never see him, so I only have to call him that when I see him. I’m going to let Mr. Telford be my daddy.” The tears that glistened unshed in her eyes finally dripped down her cheeks. “If he won’t be my daddy, I’m going to run away.” Her eyes beseeched Russ. “Can’t he be my daddy, Mr. Russ? Can’t he?”

Russ dropped down on his haunches and pulled Tara into his arms. “He
will
be your daddy. It seems to me he has been ever since you came here. Telford loves you as much as you love him, so no more tears. All right?”

She nodded. “Do you think my mummy will let me call him Daddy?”

He hugged Tara and stroked her back. “You’re five, going on six, so it seems to me you should call him Dad.”

She threw her arms around Russ’s neck. “Thanks, Mr. Russ. That’s just what I’ll call him.”

Velma wondered at the significance of that strange conversation with a five-year-old and thought of her father, a man with whom she could never communicate to her
satisfaction. Russ understood Tara and knew how to quiet her fears. She looked at Henry who seemed awestruck, with his gaze pinned on Russ. No one had to tell her that to Henry, Russ’s behavior was out of character. She mused as to the reason and, especially, whether it could be traced to what had gone on between Russ and her that day. Her heart fluttered, more with joy than with excitement, when she thought he might be softening, that—like her—he had begun to feel the need for love.

“I’ll be in and out for the next couple of weeks,” Russ told Velma after dinner that evening. “We’re thinking of building an annex to the Florence Griffith-Joyner Houses in Philadelphia, and I need to work there for a while. If you need me, you have my cell phone.”

“Who’ll shovel the snow?” She asked the question more to show an indifference to his leaving Harrington House for the remainder of her stay than because she worried about snow removal.

“If it continues after I leave, Henry will call a snow-removal company. Drake’s leaving in a couple of days for Barbados. We’re building Frenchman’s Village there—an apartment, hotel, shopping mall complex—and, as you know, he’s the engineer for all our projects.”

“You’re the architect, Drake’s the engineer and Telford is the builder. How did that happen?”

“We decided on that when we were teenagers, and it suits us.”

“Wasn’t Drake planning to eat dinner at home tonight?”

“He decided not to risk driving through this snow. He’ll be here tomorrow. Join me in the den for some cognac? Henry and Tara will probably have some kind of juice.”

She didn’t want casual chitchat. As much as she loved her niece and Henry, she didn’t want to talk with them right
then, and the thought of an hour of impersonal conversation with Russ had about as much attraction for her as poison ivy. Nonetheless, she said, “I won’t drink, but I’ll sit with you while you enjoy yours.”

He leaned against the big walnut commode that had belonged to his maternal grandparents and looked at her. “How is it that you so often manage to surprise me with the right words or behavior?”

She lifted her shoulder in a slight shrug. “It isn’t intentional, I assure you.”

He straightened up. “Oh, I know it isn’t. It’s you.”

To her relief, Tara began to yawn and nod almost as soon as they went into the den. “I’d better put her to bed,” Velma said to Russ and Henry.

“Good night. Sleep well,” Russ said, letting her know that their evening was over.

“Good night,” Henry said. “As for sleeping well, ain’t no point in telling you to do that, ’cause you’re gonna be awake half the night. You young people think you got forever to start living. Dumbest thing I ever heard of.”

“You’ve got my life all laid out, Henry,” she heard Russ say as she started down the hall with Tara, “but I will live it my way, not your way or Telford’s or Drake’s. You listening to me?”

“Yeah, and I ain’t heard nothing you haven’t said before. You’re running from that one just because we think she’s good for you. Go ahead. Make yer own bed hard. I ain’t the one sleeping in it.”

She would have been happier if she hadn’t heard that exchange between Russ and Henry. She put Tara to bed, laid out her clothes for school the next day, pulled off her shoes and tiptoed up the stairs to her room. The last thing she wanted was to bump into Russ. He and Henry didn’t seem to notice that she ate hardly any supper. Hunger pangs
pelted her belly, and she drank two glasses of water in an effort to ease the pain. Still longing for solid food, she eased between the sheets and tried to sleep. Three hours later, she sat up and turned on the light beside her bed, exhausted from dreams of a battle with oversize steaks and spareribs and of trying to hide huge hamburgers from Russ, whose mocking laughter echoed everyplace she went.

Before breakfast the next morning, Russ got the snowplow and cleaned the circle in front of the house, the road leading to it and the one that connected the house and the warehouse. Sitting in the office at the warehouse, he telephoned Allen Krenner, their foreman, and told him what he and Velma had discovered.

“I haven’t got a clue as to how that could happen, Russ,” he said, “but from where I sit, at least one of the culprits works for either the manufacturer or the packaging company.”

“You don’t think the accountant is involved?”

“Hard to say, Russ, but I wouldn’t bet on it.”

He trusted Allen, a longtime family friend. “Whoever he is, I’ll find him.” He hung up, made the necessary notes in the daily log and went home to get his breakfast. After eating, he checked the weather on local radio and phoned Velma. “We got about eight inches of snow last night, so I doubt school will open today.”

“Oh, dear,” she said. “I had planned to drive Alexis’s car to Baltimore today. I need to take care of some business.”

“The roads will be open by ten o’clock, but most businesses will probably be closed. If it can wait until tomorrow, you can drive me to Baltimore, and I’ll get a train there to Philadelphia.”

Twenty minutes later, he had reason to be thankful that
he was at home. “Aunt Velma! Aunt Velma!” he heard Tara screaming, obviously on her way up the stairs.

He bolted from the room and met her as she reached the landing, both hands on her belly. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“My tummy. My tummy. I thought it was candy, and I ate it.”

He grabbed her and ran as fast as he could to Alexis’s rooms. “What? Show me.”

She pointed to the remainder of a substance that he supposed Alexis used either in her sculpting or painting. He tried to force Tara to give up the substance, but she couldn’t, and when her eyes widened, he knew that her stomach pains had intensified. He went to a closet.

“Get your coat,” he told her.

She pulled one off a hanger, and he sped down the hall still carrying her in his arms. “Velma!” he called. “Get your coat and let’s go.”

He ran into the kitchen. “Henry, Tara swallowed something toxic, and I’m taking her to the hospital in Frederick this minute.”

He pulled out his cellular phone and punched in Velma’s number. “Get ready to come with me right now,” he said, when she answered. “Tara swallowed something, and we have to take her to the hospital.”

Minutes later he put Velma, Tara, blankets, and his first-aid kit in the backseat of his Mercedes and headed for Frederick. “How do you feel, Tara?” he asked the child, more worried that he would let either of them know.

“My tummy hurts, Mr. Russ.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, “and that’s why we’re taking you to the doctor.”

“Did I do bad, Mr. Russ?”

“No, you did not. You made a mistake.”

“Do you think she has a fever?” he asked Velma.

“Her forehead is cool, so I don’t think so.”

“Last time I was in Frederick Hospital, I went there to see my uncle. One of the shocks of my life. Someday, if you’re interested, I’ll tell you about it.”

“If it was important enough to shock you, of course I’m interested.”

Her words sank in, even though he didn’t want them to impress him. He drove several miles without speaking, but at last he was compelled to respond. “I wish I could see inside of your head, know how your thoughts form and why they seem almost always to fall so nicely on my ears.”

“I try to tell the truth. I am not interested in being clever or witty, though some people say I am. I just try to be myself.”

He wished he’d been looking at her when she said that. “Including the other night when you blew kisses to your fans in that restaurant? It will be a long time before I let you forget that.”

“I told you that I’m a prankster. That came as natural to me as breathing.”

“How’s she doing? Don’t let her go to sleep.”

“Right. And that’s what she’s trying to do.”

“Talk to her. Anything to keep her awake. We should be there in about ten minutes, providing a highway patrolman doesn’t catch us.”

At last, he parked in front of the hospital, jumped out and took Tara from Velma’s arms. “If you pray, this would be a good time,” he told Velma, slammed the car door shut and raced into the emergency room.

A nurse took Tara from him, but although he knew he had to give the child up for care, a heaviness formed in his chest when he handed her over. “She swallowed some material
that her mother uses either for painting or for sculpting, and she complained of terrible stomach pains.”

“Thanks. Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of her.”

“Can we go with you?” he asked the nurse.

She shook her head. “Sit here. I’ll let you know how she is.”

Velma’s hand clutched his wrist. “Should we put the car in the parking lot?”

“Yeah. I guess so.” But leaving the waiting room was like deserting Tara, and he couldn’t do that. As if she understood his feelings and divined his thoughts, she held out her hand. “Give me your keys. I’ll move the car.”

He reached into his pocket, got the keys and handed them to her. “Thanks.” Feeling that his heart would break, he stared up at her as she stood over him, her face the picture of compassion. Then, on what was certainly an impulse, she leaned forward and kissed his lips.

“You got her here in time, and she’ll be well taken care of,” she said. “It’s hard for me, too, but please try not to worry. You’re a wonderful man. I’ll be right back.”

She left him, and he leaned forward with his knees apart, rested his forearms on his thighs and let his hands dangle in front of him. Useless. Powerless. Unfamiliar feelings. He got up, walked to the other end of the small room and retraced his steps. Walls white and bare, gray chairs side by side around the room. Why didn’t someone put pictures in waiting rooms, or anything to distract a person’s attention? He walked back to the other side of the room. If only he could kick something! Thinking that an hour had passed and wondering why Velma hadn’t returned, he looked at his watch and grimaced. Less than twenty minutes had elapsed since he stopped his car in front of the hospital.

Since he stopped… What had he been thinking? He didn’t allow anyone to drive his car except Telford and Drake, and
he wasn’t keen on their doing it. Maybe he should pray, but he didn’t know how to begin. He sat down, leaned back in the chair that was too small for his big frame and closed his eyes. He remembered the Lord’s Prayer from his childhood, and he said it then in barely whispered tones. When he opened his eyes, Velma stood before him.

She handed him the car keys. “I parked on the side. No news yet?”

He shook his head. “No. She’s so little. What could they be doing to her?”

“Probably pumping her stomach.”

He sprang forward. “Will that hurt?”

“I’m not sure. I hope not.” He started to get up, and she tugged at his hand. “Honey, try to relax. They’ll tell us something soon.”

She caressed his hand, and he let her do it; he needed the comfort. “That little girl is so much a part of me. If she were my own child, I doubt I could love her more. Telford, Drake and Henry adopted her at once, but it took me a long time. One day late last summer, I saved her life, and she’s been in here ever since.” He pointed to his heart. “I couldn’t bear it if she—”

She sat beside him then and put her arm around his shoulders. “She’s going to be fine.”

He closed his eyes in an effort to blot out his surroundings and tried to think of his next project, but he failed. He sensed that Velma stood up abruptly and opened his eyes to see the nurse approaching, her face brilliant with a smile. He rushed to meet the woman.