The Age of Desire (39 page)

Dearest HJ,

I beg of you. I urge you to help me. I don’t know what’s happened to Morton. He’s broken my heart with his inability, or perhaps I should say “refusal,” to answer any of my posts. What could be hampering him? Do you know if he is ill? Or has he found someone else to love? Has he written to you this summer? Would he tell you if it were so? I am at wit’s end. I am desolée. I thought we meant something to each other. I thought he felt for me all that I felt for him. You saw us. Did you see deep true affection or did I only imagine it? I feel sometimes as though I am going mad. I don’t know where to turn. And so, of course, mon cher maître, I turn to you. Burn this immediately!

Edith was born to be a lady. And a lady never pursues, never complains, never makes a scene and certainly never makes a fool of herself. So if Fullerton isn’t going to be available to her in any way—and surely only a cad could be so callous as to drag her heart through this ditch of incomprehension—then she will have to run the other way. Walter writes from Massachusetts, where he is visiting his mother:

I know you’ve told Teddy you wouldn’t leave for Europe until after Christmas this year. But in his present state, nothing seems to faze him anyway. Do you think you might get away? You know I must be in Egypt, and the
Provence
is the last ship I can sail.

It’s true, Edith reflects. Teddy, these days, with his pig house and chicken palace, is happy all the time like a five-year-old. And since his fishing trip, he is giddier than ever. The mysteries of his brain are increasingly hard to fathom.

And you, dearest one, are not sleeping. You’re quite miserable—though you won’t tell me what’s troubling you. Didn’t the doctor suggest you go somewhere, anywhere else? So break with this scene and join me. You’re always happier in Paris. Or perhaps you can cross the Sleeve and visit Henry at Lamb House. He’s begged me to convince you to come. It will be much better for you to have a travel companion in the state you’re in—why, you’d forget your passport, your pearls and heaven knows what else—and there’s no one’s company I’d prefer to yours. Do say yes before the ship is sold out and they make you sleep in the hold.

So Edith announces to Teddy, and anyone else who will listen, that her insomnia and her hay fever have gotten the best of her. She requires a change of scene and quickly. Teddy shrugs and says he will book into the Knickerbocker Club until it’s time for him to go on his hunting trip, and then perhaps go off to Hot Springs for another cure. (Oh, if only he were
always
so acquiescent!) The servants begin to roll up The Mount’s mattresses and bring the oatmeal-colored drop cloths up from the storage room. Usually, this tucking away of her summer life makes Edith sad. But not this year. Teddy bids a tearful good-bye to his beloved Lawton, and the pig keeper reports to Edith that Lawton was literally whimpering at the farewell. Could a pig possibly be so smart?

Edith loves the thought of England, and time with Henry on his own turf. She feels so full of energy at the thought, she even quickly writes a comic story. When was the last time she felt up to that? And as she and Teddy and Fannie Thayer load themselves into the motorcar for the trip to New York, the dogs between them and at their feet, yipping and crazed by all the commotion, she feels as expectant as a young girl heading toward a ball. Teddy will be dropped off at the Knickerbocker Club, and Edith will check into the Belmont—no point opening up 884 for a single night. Besides, at the last minute, they’ve found a tenant to fill it. The servants can stay at 882 until winter.

And Anna! Anna’s ship is supposed to arrive this evening—such good timing! Edith will send Cook down to the pier to fetch her. How she looks forward to seeing her dear friend! She imagines Anna’s pale skin burnished by the Greek sun, roses in her cheeks. Tonni’s cheeks! How she loved to press her face against her governess’s face when she was a child. Tonni’s cheeks were always warm and soft as velvet. She would hold Edith close and sing German songs. Hold her the way her own mother never would. As though she were happy to be in her company. As though she were precious. Edith wants so much to show Anna that she still cares about her—that sending her off this summer was a gift, not a snub.

Tonight, she imagines Anna’s clear, shining eyes across a restaurant table, retelling her adventures and explaining the mysterious friends who whisked her off to Greece.

But Cook is soon back at the Belmont. Unfortunately, Anna’s ship has been delayed by inclement weather in the Atlantic. The
Bremen
isn’t expected to dock until late the next day, two or three hours after Edith’s own ship, the
Provence
, is set to sail. Fannie Thayer, who has set herself up in Edith’s hotel room to organize her papers, shakes her head with distress.

“She’ll be crushed, you know. Anna’s been longing to see you. . . .”

Edith debates. Should she not go? Should she wait until the next ship in one week’s time? But how can she? Walter needs to get to Cairo now that he’s been elected to the tribunal. There is a job to do! Counting the three days he plans to stay in England, he told her, this is the last possible date he can sail. Still, Edith fears that Anna will think she’s been snubbed again. It wounds her to think that she allowed anyone—even Morton Fullerton—to come between her and her dear Tonni, who never wished her anything but kindness.

And so she writes. Writing is her best way of communicating. But not with Tonni! She had so longed to see her face-to-face, to make things right.

Dearest Tonni,

The disappointment of not seeing you before I sail! I know it seems heartless, unsympathetic and unnatural. I know Miss Thayer thinks it is.

Well, I’ve had insomnia badly for two months, and Dr. Kinnicut, who came to Lenox early in Sept., tried different things, of a mild kind, but said, “If it goes on, you must have a change.”

It did go on, and got worse, and I came to town to see him about three weeks ago, and he said more emphatically, “Do go away at once.” The trouble is that the least little sleep drug stupefies me the next day, and unfits me for my writing, which is such a joy and interest to me—and that makes me restless and bored. So I felt he was right.

At the same time, he urged Teddy very strongly to go back to the Hot Springs for another cure, before going to his shooting in Dec. Teddy has had the best summer he has had in years, as the result of his Hot Springs visit, so it seemed as if he ought to do this.
[Isn’t it better to tell Anna that he is going to Hot Springs because he has had success there? Why worry her by mentioning his overexcited state, which is the real reason she hopes he goes. Tonni would never approve of her leaving him in the shape he’s in.]
Therefore I should have had to stay alone in Lenox all of Nov. or go with him, and I disliked the idea of that, as the hotel is very much over-heated, food very indigestible, etc.

So I decided I would go out to Europe six weeks ahead of him; but I should have waited over another week in NY expressly to see you, if it had not been that Mr. Berry (who has been appointed a judge of the International Tribunal at Cairo) suddenly decided to sail on the
Provence
—that is, as soon as he was appointed, he settled on that date as the latest. It gave me the opportunity of having a companion instead of crossing utterly alone, and as I knew no one going out in Nov. I was very strongly tempted, and decided I had better go with him.

If I had felt well, I should not have minded being alone, but the insomnia has pulled me down, naturally, and it made all the difference having him with me. Dr. K. thinks my bad hay-fever was one of the causes, and he assures me it will all be over in a short time with complete change, as my general physical condition is good. But I want to break it up before it becomes anything like a habit, because it unsettles my whole mental life, and leaves me so good for nothing.

Miss Thayer will tell you that it hasn’t yet affected my spirits, or prevented my writing what she considers a very funny story!!

I write this in great haste, as I was so sure of seeing you today that I didn’t allow myself time. But you shall get a real letter from the steamer.

Dear Tonni, I do hope you understand that it is not heartless or inconsiderate of me to go off like this, and that it wrings my heart not to see you, and hear from your own lips the story of your summer.

Teddy will tell you all the details; I only want to assure you that I wouldn’t have gone without seeing you for a few days first if I hadn’t dreaded the long solitary days at sea and the sleepless nights.

I have a feeling you’ll understand, and not be hurt, and above all, not worry. That’s the thing I want most. I am well, essentially, only this special thing has to be cured.

Your devoted EW

Anna is thrilled as they steam past the Statue of Liberty. Oh, to be home at last! She breathes in the oil-infused perfume of New York Harbor, and glories in the crush of buildings and motorcars she spots on shore. What a journey it was, bringing her experiences she never imagined she’d encounter in her life! But during her most rousing moment abroad, she wished not any other outcome than this: to return home to Edith. Edith’s most recent letters sounded kind, contrite. Perhaps at last they can be what they were to each other once more. How Anna longs for that.

Cook is waiting on the pier, looking nervous, his hands held behind his back as though he is hiding something.

“Miss Anna,” he says, doffing his cap. “Welcome home. Have we many trunks to collect?”

“Just one.” She smiles at him, and sees that he’s aged: his boyish face has begun to tighten around the eyes, and loosen at the chin. How many years has she known him?

“What is the plan? Are we to go straight away to Lenox? Or are we stopping at 882?” she asks. “There are some books I’d like to pick up there first, if it would be no trouble.”

Cook bites his lip. Another steamer moving out of the harbor lets out a low and mournful howl.

“We’re
only
going to 882,” Cook says. “You see, Mrs. Wharton’s had to go on. She’s awfully sorry. She gave me this note to give to you.”