Family Secrets (23 page)

He would bide his time and see if she wore well. It would be indecent to bring her right home, and there was no point in leaving her here by herself. He was already thinking of her as his. Things were going well at the office, and the boys could run it for a while, keeping in touch with him faithfully every day as they did. He was not anxious to return to the long faces of his family in Brooklyn. They tried to do too much for him and it annoyed him; it was as if they were trying by their constant ministrations and hovering to make him weak, their prisoner. No, a house should have an older woman in it, for balance. Then his children could return to being children again and his silly daughters would stop playing house.

Once he had made his decision, Adam began enjoying his vacation. The weather was beautiful every day, and he took long walks, building his strength. Long ago he had walked for miles, first because he could not afford any other means of transportation than his two legs or some kind farmer’s wagon, and later because he was looking for work. Now, through the years, he had become lazy. It was a good feeling to become strong again. One afternoon he even took Etta out in a rowboat, although she was pale with fear because she couldn’t swim. He was not too disappointed to have to bring the boat back to shore after half an hour. He was not meant to row a boat anyway.

In the afternoons he usually played pinochle, always able to find a partner, and he made sure to read all the New York newspapers, particularly the
Wall Street Journal
. Jonah had been buying stocks for quite a while now, penny by penny, and Adam thought it would be a good idea for him to start buying some too, while the prices were still low. Lavinia called him every evening, if not more often, and he had word of all the news from home. He always asked her what Jonah had bought, what Jonah had sold, what Jonah was considering buying. She always knew.

The food at Laurel Pastures was delicious and varied. Adam realized at the end of a month that he would have to be careful or he would put on weight. He was spared the unpleasantness of going on a starvation diet by Melissa.

“We’ll be up this weekend, Papa,” she said happily on the phone.

“Up here?”

“Lavinia wanted it to be a surprise for you,” Melissa said, “But I think that’s silly. Besides, Lazarus was thinking that since you’ve been there so long, their best customer so to speak, and must know everybody by now, that you might be able to get us a discount.”

“Who’s coming?”

“Lazarus and me, Lavinia and Jonah, and the kids.”

“You can see me for free,” Adam said. “I’m coming home.”

Melissa squealed with joy. “Oh, good! When?”

“Before the weekend. You stay put.”

That evening when he met Etta on the veranda he told her to quit her job and pack. They would get married.

“But what will I do?” she asked. “I have no place to live until …”

“They have weddings here, don’t they? You told me.”

“Yes …”

“Good. Then tomorrow morning we take the car and go into town and get a marriage license. Then the hotel doctor can give us our blood tests and the hotel rabbi can marry us. You care about your own rabbi, it’s important to you?”

“No, no,” she said.

“Good. It’s settled.”

It was the moral way, the only way. He would bring Etta home as Mrs. Saffron. There had never been a breath of scandal surrounding him and there never would be.

Adam had kept his car and chauffeur on at the hotel while he was there, so he could keep his independence and mobility, but he hadn’t used them and so he hadn’t seen the chauffeur for a month. The man had grown so fat Adam hardly recognized him.

“Moishe, you eat too well here,” he said.

“Yassuh, yassuh, Mist’ Saffron,” the fat colored man said, laughing. His name was Maurice, but Adam called him either Morris or Moishe.

“You be careful, I’ll have to get a bigger car.”

“Yassuh, heh, heh, heh.” They both knew there was no bigger car to be found.

The chauffeur drove Adam and Etta into the small town to get the wedding license. Etta was wearing a navy blue dress with a white collar and cuffs, and she looked very nervous. She had removed her wedding ring and she kept clenching and unclenching her hands.

“Do you swear,” the clerk said dispassionately, “that everything you say here is true, so help you God?”

“I do,” said Adam.

“I do,” Etta whispered.

“Name?”

“Adam Saffron.”

“Age?”

“Fifty-six.”

“Any previous marriages?” On and on, blah blah.

“Name?”

“Etta Weinstein Palinski.”

“Age?”

No answer. Etta’s face was dead white. You had to swear to tell the truth or the marriage wouldn’t be legal …

“Age?”

“Thirty-five,” Etta said.

Adam did not make public scenes. He listened carefully to the rest of her answers, his face betraying no emotion, watching her from the corner of his eye. She was nearly in tears and afraid to look at him. When they had finished the legal folderol they each signed the paper and the license was theirs. They went back to the car in silence.

“The hotel, Moishe,” Adam said.

The car climbed the road between the green and blue mountains. “The marriage is off,” Adam said.

Etta began to cry, softly, wiping her eyes with a little white handkerchief.

“You told me you were forty-six,” Adam said. “Why did you say that?”

“I was afraid you would think I was too young for you if I told you the truth.”

“But you are too young for me. My oldest daughter is only a year younger than you are.”

Etta cried harder.

“You’re twenty-one years younger than I am. You could be my daughter.”

She never answered. He looked at her. Her legs were crossed and her skirt pulled slightly up. She had not bothered to pull it down demurely as she usually did because she was so distraught, and Adam took a good look. Then he looked at the rest of her, carefully, weighing the pros and cons of such a relationship. Thirty-five was a lot better-looking than fifty. A woman of the proper age to make his wife would never have such legs, nor even such a bust or such a trim waistline. Nor such a nice smooth face. She had managed to fool him with her lie and her gray hair, maybe she could fool everyone.

“The gray hair,” he said, “how did you get the gray hair?”

“I’ve had it since I was fourteen,” Etta said, sniffling.

“And the married son? There really is a married son?”

“Oh, yes.”

“How old is he, then?”

She gave a small sob. “Seventeen.”

Thirty-five years old. It was outrageous, embarrassing, not to be considered, but there was something quite delicious about it. A man of his age was entitled to some pleasures. He was always doing for others, giving to others, seeing that they were taken care of, and what of himself? Who did for him, gave to him? Why shouldn’t he have a young wife? He was far from dead. Fifty-six was not ready to retire from the living.

“It’s not good to start a marriage with lies,” Adam said.

Etta sobbed into her handkerchief.

“Stop crying and listen to me.”

She controlled her crying to a few little noises and wiped her eyes and nose. She looked at him.

“If I go through with this marriage you must first promise me no more lies. You understand?”

“Yes, yes.”

“You swear it? No more lies, ever?”

“I swear it.”

“Nothing is so bad it has to be a secret between two married people.”

“You’re right. You’re always right.”

“You have anything else you want to tell me?”

“No, no.”

Adam looked at her and chuckled. She looked back, surprised. “Every woman lies about her age,” he said, amused, “but backwards—that’s a new one on me!”

When she saw that he was no longer angry at her she smiled at him gratefully. Then she put her head on his shoulder. He patted her neat little hand, lying there on her neat little silken knee.

After the necessary legal waiting period Adam and Etta were married in the Laurel Pastures Wedding Salon by the hotel rabbi. She wore a beige dress and he wore a dark business suit. She held a small bouquet of yellow and white flowers from the hotel gardens and her temporary wedding ring came from the nearby town’s only jewelry store. It was a simple gold band. When they got back home he would get her a big diamond from New York, maybe wholesale from Finklestein. Finklestein always gave him a good bargain. If it hadn’t been for Finkelstein he would never have come here to Laurel Pastures and he never would have met Etta.

They spent their wedding night at the hotel. Then the next day Adam and Etta Saffron and all their luggage went in the car to Brooklyn, where he would present her to his children. It was exactly six weeks since their mother had died.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Hazel was the first to know although Adam had planned on telling Lavinia because she was the oldest and most level-headed of his children. But when he arrived at his house with Etta, there was Hazel, sitting at the window seat waiting for the first sight of his car.

“It’s my daughter Hazel,” he said to Etta in the driveway.

“Hazel.” She nodded, trying to remember the name with the face.

Hazel opened the door before the maids could get there or Adam could use his key. She was neither excited nor joyous, she was simply glad for the diversion of her Papa coming home.

“Hazel, this is Etta,” Adam said.

“Hello, Hazel,” said Etta nicely.

“Hello,” said Hazel, without curiosity.

Adam and Etta came in and he helped Etta off with her coat and handed it to the maid. “Take Mrs. Saffron’s coat upstairs to our room,” he said to Lena, the maid. Lena’s mouth fell open. “There’s luggage in the car,” Adam added. “Help Morris.”

Hazel was looking at Etta. “Are you related to us?” she asked.

“Etta and I just got married,” Adam told her kindly.

Hazel frowned, trying to digest the news. She nodded. “You knit?” she asked Etta.

“Yes, very well,” Etta said.

“Me too,” Hazel said contentedly.

Adam showed Etta around the house quickly and then left her in their room to unpack and settle herself. It had once been his room, now it would be their room. Not the sickroom, not Lucy’s room, not his lonely room, but their room. There would be life in it now. He went downstairs to his study and telephoned Lavinia.

He told her that he was back home, that she should come over with Jonah after dinner, and that while he was at Laurel Pastures he had met a nice widow named Etta and he had married her. He wanted Lavinia and Jonah to meet her. He told Lavinia to telephone Melissa and tell her the news and tell her to come over after dinner with Lazarus. As for Andrew and Basil, Adam told Lavinia, he would inform them in a minute when he called the office. Rosemary, apparently, was out of the house.

He called Andrew then, found out whatever news had transpired in the business since they had spoken the day before, and told Andrew about the marriage and to come over that night with Cassie and to tell Basil, since Basil might well have made a date. If Basil had a date, naturally he would have to postpone it, since this family event took precedence.

Both Lavinia and Andrew had sounded shocked, but Adam realized they would have the whole afternoon and evening to compose themselves, and would put on a friendly, pleasant air for Etta no matter what they felt. It would be a civilized evening. He would not have expected less, nor would he accept less.

When she hung up the phone Lavinia burst into tears. She had been crying easily ever since her Mama had died, which was not like her, and now she cried bitterly at the heartlessness of it all. How could Papa do that to Mama? How could he?

Jonah tried to comfort her, and finally, because she knew there was no other way, Lavinia composed herself. She telephoned Melissa, pretending to be very calm, and told her the news. Melissa shrieked.

“How can you be so calm, Lavinia?”

“I’m not calm, I’m very upset.”

“You’re so strong. You were always so strong. I’m having a fit.”

“I know. But we have to be nice to her, I suppose.”

“Maybe she’s nice.”

“Melissa! What difference would that make? It’s
six weeks
.”

Melissa began to sniffle.

“Stop crying and listen to me,” Lavinia said. “Can you get me a girl to stay with Paris tonight?”

“I think so. I’ll ask Bridie.”

“Good. Call me. And tonight, for once, don’t be late.”

Lavinia hung up and cried again for a minute or two, then pulled herself together and concentrated on looking as well as she could for the meeting. She wished she’d had time to have her hair done. This was some way to tell them, to spring it on them at the last minute. She would wash her hair herself and set it. Luckily it was short and dried fast, and she was handy. The yellow dress was her most becoming one. Mama had always said not to wear black to funerals, Mama hated black, but tonight Lavinia felt like wearing a black dress to remind both Papa and that woman that there was someone who remembered. Should she wear her black dress to show them what was what, or should she wear the yellow because it made her look pretty?

Melissa called back to tell her that Bridie had found a friend of hers to come stay with Paris, and the girl would be there at seven o’clock promptly.

“You sound peculiar,” Lavinia said.

“Lazarus gave me a drink to calm me down and I’m a little giddy,” Melissa said cheerfully.

“You’re drunk now, is that it?”

“I’m not drunk, I’m just a little giddy.”

“Don’t show up drunk, Melissa, and don’t be late. We have to be there all together.”

“I know … Lavinia, what are you wearing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think we should get dressed up?”

“Wear what your conscience dictates,” Lavinia said.

After she hung up she tried on the black. It made her look older, and too pale. Even pearls didn’t help enough. But the yellow looked like a celebration. She would be dignified, she would be civilized, but she would not celebrate. She decided on a subdued brown print. Refined, she would look refined. What kind of woman could that be, to get her hooks into a widower before his wife was cold in her grave? Etta. What kind of name was Etta? Cheap. She must have married Papa for his money. But nobody fooled Papa.