The Road Through the Wall (23 page)

“They
look
real,” Mary said admiringly. “From here you really couldn't tell.”

“They're almost real,” Virginia said with the patronizing air of an owner. “They're not bad pearls at all, for the price.”

“What do you want that stuff for?” Beverley asked suddenly. She held her pint of ice cream tighter and said, “That stuff's no good.”

“I don't like five-and-ten jewelry as a rule,” Virginia said to Mary behind Beverley's back, “but sometimes you can find something really good.”

“There's Frederica,” Beverley said. They had turned the corner into Pepper Street, and Beverley pointed ahead. “Frederica,” she said.

Frederica saw them from in front of her own house, where she had been standing looking anxiously up and down the street, and she started to run toward them.

“If you want us to go again tomorrow,” Virginia said roughly to Beverley, “don't you tell her we bought anything.”

She slipped the bag with the pearls hurriedly into her pocket and tried to slide the candy box behind her arm inconspicuously.

“Frederica,” Beverley called. “Here I am.” She stood smiling and pleased as her sister ran up to her, and when Frederica came close enough Beverley held out the box of ice cream and said, “This is for you and Mommy.”

“Where have you been?” Frederica demanded. She spent one glance up and down on Virginia and Mary, and then said to her sister, “Where's all that money? Tell me where you've been.”

Beverley's face began to twist unhappily. “Ice cream,” she said.

“We just met her on the corner,” Virginia cut in brightly, “and we were bringing her home.”

“We knew you'd be looking for her,” Mary chimed in, “so we told her she had to come right home with us.”

Frederica took her sister's arm and said, “You come with me. You've been very bad.”

Beverley began to cry quietly, her face contorted like a baby's, and Frederica shook her and said again, “You're a bad, bad girl.”

“I'm sorry we didn't find her sooner,” Virginia said insistently. “We could of brought her right home for you.”

Frederica looked at Virginia and Mary again. Her eyes stopped briefly at the candy box under Virginia's arm and Mary's bulging pockets, and she said, “Come
on
, Bev.” Pulling her crying sister along beside her, she started down the block.

When she was out of hearing, Virginia nudged Mary and they both began to giggle, covering their mouths with their hands. Once, almost in front of her own house, Frederica looked back again, and they were both sober instantly, faces dead and straight, and then when she looked away they began to giggle again.

•   •   •

James Donald honored the games with his presence that night. They were all playing prisoner's base, and after standing for a little while on the sidewalk he said suddenly to Pat Byrne, who was near him, “Think I could join in?”

“No one's stopping you,” Pat said, but Mary Byrne heard and began shouting that James was going to play, demanding that new sides be chosen and the game started again. Very conscious of his own dignity, James allowed himself to be disputed over; Pat Byrne declared ostentatiously that he was too tired to play again; and the game got under way shortly before it was time for Mr. Desmond to start his evening walk. Mr. Roberts, standing on his own sidewalk, observed to Pat, who was lying on the grass, “There's a fine fellow, that Donald boy,” and Pat said, “You mean Tod?”

Mr. Roberts looked at him and said genially, “Nose a little bit out of joint, old man?” Pat rolled over in disgust, burying his face in the grass, and Mr. Roberts laughed shortly and walked down the street a ways. He stood there for a few minutes before Mr. Desmond came out of his house and, when he saw Mr. Desmond, turned in a leisurely manner and walked to meet him. Johnny Desmond was with his father, and he was saying earnestly as they came up to Mr. Roberts, his face turned toward his father, and his voice pleading, “I'll
never
be able to do anything without a car, all the fellows—”

Mr. Roberts held out a hand and said loudly, “Glad to see you again there, Johnny. Been away?”

“Pretty busy,” Johnny said, turning his face reluctantly away from his father.

“Quite a fellow, your son,” Mr. Roberts said to Mr. Desmond, and Mr. Desmond said proudly, “Quite a fellow.”

“You know,” Mr. Roberts said, dropping his voice as they began to walk up the street, “that's a funny fellow, that Byrne boy. Seems very envious and bitter.”

“Well. . . .” Mr. Desmond said consideringly.

“Frankly,” Mr. Roberts said, “I don't altogether like seeing him with my boy so much of the time.”

“Can't say I blame you,” Mr. Desmond said. Johnny had stopped to watch the game in the street, and the two men stopped a few steps farther on. “They usually grow up all right, though,” Mr. Desmond said, looking fondly at Johnny.

“Oh, well,” Mr. Roberts said. “You've got a fine fellow there.”

Johnny walked down to the curb and was watching the game when Virginia Donald came up to him. “Want to play?” she said daringly.

“Not for
me
.” Johnny laughed loudly, so his father could hear him. “That sort of stuff is for babies,” he said, and looking at James Donald, added sourly, “and football players.”

Mr. Desmond and Mr. Roberts had begun to walk on again slowly. Mr. Desmond was saying, “You want to treat them like
men
, not children; give them responsibility.”

Virginia looked over her shoulder at her brother in the middle of the game and called jeeringly, “Did you hear that, James?”

James stopped running and looked around wonderingly. “Who's that?” he asked. He came over slowly and said, “Johnny Desmond? What's going on?”

“He was just admiring your running,” Virginia said. She looked up at Johnny for approval, and said, “He thinks only a football player could run like that.”

“Listen,” James said, hurt.

“Don't let it bother you,” Johnny said wearily. He started to move along after his father and was stopped when Tod Donald ran furiously against him, yelling, “Don't you talk to my brother like that!”

“Get out of here,” Johnny said, shoving him away, and James said crossly, “Oh, Toddie, leave him alone.”

“But the way he was talking,” Toddie insisted tearfully. “He can't go talking like that.”

“Mind your own business, Toddie,” Virginia said sharply. She smiled brightly at Johnny, and said to James, “He was only kidding.”

“I just wondered,” Johnny said to James, “how you could spend your time on kid stuff like these games.”

“What's wrong with football?” James demanded, perplexed. “You trying to say something about our football team?”

Johnny laughed weakly and started off again after his father, but James said commandingly, “You just tell me what you mean,” and Johnny shrugged his shoulders despairingly and stood still. The children, without James, had stopped their game and were standing silently about in the street, faces all turned to the spot under the street light where James and Johnny were standing, with Virginia nearby wearing a self-conscious smile.

“I'm on that football team, you know that?” James said, his ferocity only modified by a faint anxiety. “You
know
that?”

“What's going on?” Mr. Roberts said. “Artie?”

“Yes?” Artie's voice came thinly from among the crowd of children. Mr. Roberts snorted, and came up to Johnny and James, putting one hand on each. “Break it up, fellows,” he said. “What's going on?”

“Johnny?” Mr. Desmond said anxiously from where he had turned and was hurrying back. “What's wrong, Johnny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Johnny said.

“This is disgraceful,” Mr. Roberts said. “Artie, what are you doing out there?”

“Nothing,” Artie said.

James Donald's face was working angrily and he shoved against Mr. Roberts's hand. “Let me
alone
,” he said.

“You better apologize,” Mr. Roberts said to James.

“I didn't do anything,” James said weakly.

“That's right,” Johnny said. He shook off Mr. Roberts's hand. “I don't want anyone apologizing to me.”

Mr. Desmond, now beside his son, said severely, “
Naturally
you would be satisfied with an apology, Johnny. James?”

There was a long silence, and then James said miserably, “I'm sorry.”

“There,” Mr. Desmond said. “You boys don't really want to fight. You two just shake hands.”

“For
God's
sake, Dad,” Johnny said violently. He looked at James. “Listen,” he began.

“You all go to hell,” James said, with vast adolescent contempt, and turned and walked away through the silent group of children.

•   •   •

Text of two manuscripts found at the creek, late in the summer, by Tod Donald:

In ten years I will be a beautiful charming lovely lady writer without any husband or children but lots of lovers and everyone will read the books I write and want to marry me but I will never marry any of them. I will have lots of money and jewels too
.

I will be a famous actress or maybe a painter and everyone will be afraid of me and do what I say.

CHAPTER SIX

Mrs. Ransom-Jones was wearing pale blue linen, with her dark hair piled up on top of her head. She looked exactly like a finely trained hostess receiving her garden-party guests. “How
nice
to see you,” she was saying in her high sweet voice, and, “So
glad
you could come.”

Miss Tyler, somewhat in back of her sister, but wearing pale pink and a wide hat, bowed and fluttered and murmured little incoherent emphases while her sister spoke, and then, in her turn, said to each guest, “It's been so
long
,” and handed them one by one on to Brad Ransom-Jones, who was far too small for two wives, but red-faced and genial.

“Indeed, indeed,” he shouted at each new guest, “imagine living here all this time and not meeting
you
!” And he shook hands enthusiastically and led guests out to the Ransom-Jones garden, which many of the guests had not seen before, and which all of them admired extravagantly.

“It's a neighborhood party,” Mrs. Ransom-Jones said beautifully to Mrs. Desmond. “We thought it was a shame that all of us had never gotten together in a really
neighborhood
party before.” Johnny, tall and white-jacketed behind his mother and father, got an especially warm handclasp from Mrs. Ransom-Jones and a “But you're so
big!
” with a little laugh over her shoulder at his mother. “And little Caroline!” without words to express her delight at seeing even little Caroline. Mrs. Desmond smiled maternally down at Caroline and started to speak to Mrs. Ransom-Jones, but Mrs. Ransom-Jones was already saying, “Mrs. Roberts! How nice to see
you
.”

Out in the garden the neighbors gathered uneasily, standing for the most part with the people who lived next door to them, whose faces they knew best. Miss Fielding, who had come first, taking a long time to walk the long block to the Ransom-Jones house, had been given a wicker chair in the center of things, and sat, withdrawn and polite, smiling pleasantly on acquaintances. “It's very nice to see you so well, dear,” she told Johnny Desmond. “I heard you had been ill?”

“No, ma'am,” Johnny said uncomfortably. “I hope you are well, too,” and slid away, imploring his mother with his eyes.

“Well,
well
,” Mr. Roberts said heartily to Miss Fielding, “still the prettiest girl on the block?” and Miss Fielding looked politely astonished, but said, “I hope you keep well, Mr. Roberts?”

The children were still too awed to move freely; they gathered in a whispering, gently pushing group near the house, the Roberts boys and Johnny Desmond, and Harriet Merriam, whose mother was talking to Mrs. Desmond about the wall. Across the street, although none of them knew it, Marilyn Perlman was watching the garden from her front porch, and Mrs. Perlman was watching Marilyn anxiously through the living-room window.

The children were joined gradually by the Donalds, James Donald eyeing Johnny Desmond with uneasy dignity, and then the Byrne children, escaping politely from their parents and the parents of their friends, running the gamut of “How big you are, how tall, what grade are you in, guess you're glad that school's starting soon. . . .” into the comparative safety of the children's group and its nervous giggling.

Mr. Ransom-Jones had laboriously erected, and Mrs. Ransom-Jones and her sister tenderly adorned, a long table garlanded with branches from the garden; it held two punch bowls and trays of food, and the group of children, moving imperceptibly nearer, ascertained through grapevine and passionate speculation that one bowl was intoxicating, one harmless, that on the trays and platters were chicken sandwiches, ham sandwiches, unidentified sandwiches which a vote supported as peanut butter—“For
us
, probably,” Virginia Donald said disgustedly; there were also plates of cookies and a wealth of celery and olives—“I bet I could eat a
million
olives, I
love
them,” Mary Byrne said; and, finally, the undeniable word went round that later ice cream would be dispensed, in unguessable quantities.

Marilyn Perlman had not been invited; neither had Mrs. Mack, nor George and Hallie Martin; Miss Tyler had entered the plans for the party with the statement, “
Naturally
we will not include the Terrels.” It was a very successful neighborhood affair; Mrs. Ransom-Jones had planned on twenty-one guests and had twenty, Mr. Byrne being unfortunately detained on business at the last minute. Mrs. Byrne and Pat and Mary were the last to come; by that time the adult guests, led by Mrs. Roberts, were permitting themselves to be escorted to the long table and were there praising the food and decorations, and renewing their dutiful homage to the garden, before accepting the cup, either intoxicating or non-intoxicating, held out by Mr. Ransom-Jones.

The children, restrained by the eyes of parents, held back until the last, and were then allowed to line up for a non-intoxicating cup apiece, and three sandwiches, and the ice cream, which was strawberry. “Go down to the
very
end of the garden,” Mrs. Ransom-Jones said amiably to the children. “All of you children just go down there and play all you want to. The perennials are down there,” she explained to her near guests, “and they can't do
any
harm.”

“Be careful of the flowers, kids,” Mrs. Roberts said immediately, at the same time that Mrs. Merriam was saying, “Harriet, we're courteous with other people's gardens, aren't we?” and Mrs. Byrne warned, “Pat, Mary, don't step on anything.”

The children moved off, carrying their plates. They went as far as they thought they should, turned and were waved farther on by Mrs. Ransom-Jones. They proceeded to the end of the garden near the hedge, where, finding that they were where they belonged, they sat down and began to eat, relaxing gradually with distance and food into a completely natural, jostling state, which brought them eventually into a game of tag strictly within the limits of their prescribed area.

“They
are
good children,” Mrs. Ransom-Jones observed to Mrs. Merriam as the children moved away. “I don't know
when
I've seen a better group of children.”

“Of course they're well brought up,” Mrs. Merriam said. “Harriet and Virginia are very close, and I think Virginia is a very well-mannered child.”

“We were just complimenting your daughter,” Mrs. Ransom-Jones said to Mr. Donald, passing by. “What a lovely girl Virginia is.”

“Charming party,” Mr. Donald said, and went on to Miss Fielding. “Good afternoon,” He said. “I hope you are well.”

“Good afternoon,” Miss Fielding said. She had a non-intoxicating cup, which she thought was intoxicating, held in her lap in her best teacup manner, and a cookie in her other hand. “I
am
well,” Miss Fielding said. “And you?”

“How
are
you, Mister,” Mr. Roberts said enthusiastically from behind Mr. Donald's back. He put his hand affectionately on Mr. Donald's shoulder and said, “Miss Fielding, how are
you
?”

“Very well, thank you,” Miss Fielding said, and tasted her cookie cautiously.

“I suppose it's to celebrate the wall coming down, too,” Mrs. Ransom-Jones was saying to Mrs. Merriam and Mrs. Desmond. “After all, the old neighborhood will never be the same again.”

“You live so far away from it,” Mrs. Merriam said. “We've had all that dust, and the
noise
. . . .”

“Caroline and I just came home yesterday,” Mrs. Desmond said. She looked down at Caroline, sitting quietly next to her mother, and smoothed the child's hair. Caroline was wearing a stiff yellow frock, with yellow socks and a yellow satin ribbon on her hair; both Mrs. Merriam and Mrs. Ransom-Jones looked down at her and smiled tenderly. “It was very bad for Caroline to be around all that dust,” Mrs. Desmond added, and looked appealingly at Mrs. Merriam and Mrs. Ransom-Jones. “She
coughed
so,” Mrs. Desmond said.

“I tell Bill they could step right in and stop it if they wanted to,” Mrs. Byrne said firmly to Mrs. Donald. “Any time Bill and Mr. Desmond and Mike Roberts and the rest wanted to they could stop it right away.”

“It's going to
ruin
the neighborhood,” Mrs. Donald said.

“It's too late now, of course,” Mrs. Byrne said. “I told Bill.”

Mrs. Roberts had got Mr. Ransom-Jones to talking about the ingredients of the intoxicating punch, and Mr. Ransom-Jones said finally, “
This
sort of thing is for old ladies, you know.” He looked at Mrs. Roberts and laughed, and Mrs. Roberts said jovially, “Why do you serve it to
me,
then?” and they both laughed, and finally, unnoticed except by Miss Fielding and Mrs. Donald and Mrs. Ransom-Jones and most of the children, Mrs. Roberts and Mr. Ransom-Jones went indoors to the kitchen to find something better to drink. In the kitchen they found Mr. Donald, who had crept there to eat his chicken sandwiches, and drove him outside where he was captured by Mrs. Byrne and given a lecture on not acting in time to save Pepper Street. Mrs. Donald, escorted by Mr. Roberts, presently strolled into the kitchen, where they partook of the refreshments being served there, soon in almost frank rivalry with the table outside.

Mr. Desmond was down among the children, circulating with the plate of cookies and much hilarity, and he observed with pleasure his son and James Donald eating together in silent companionability. “
That's
the boy, Johnny,” he said as he went by, and both boys looked up at him and then down again. While Mr. Desmond was walking around among the children Virginia Donald stood up, brushed off her skirt, and began to saunter down the garden toward the grown-ups. After hesitating a minute Harriet got up and followed. Virginia waved cheerfully to her father where he sat with Mrs. Byrne, and went unostentatiously into the house. Harriet, following, was caught by the shoulder, and looked around to see her father, hot and uncomfortable. “Having a nice time?” he asked. “I'll be inside.”

Harriet watched her father going toward the house and then went over to her mother. “Dad's gone inside,” she said when her mother looked up. Mrs. Merriam smiled and nodded and went on talking to Mrs. Desmond, and Harriet caught Mrs. Ransom-Jones's eye and whispered, “May I please find out where the bathroom is?”

Mrs. Ransom-Jones said, “Lillian, dear, will you show Harriet the bathroom?”

Mrs. Merriam looked up sharply, and Harriet, agonized at the loudness of Mrs. Ransom-Jones's voice, followed Miss Tyler into the house. They passed the kitchen and heard loud voices, and Miss Tyler, going ahead in her pale dress, turned her head away. After the bright sunlight of the garden, Harriet found it difficult to find her way through the dark rooms inside, and at last nearly ran into Miss Tyler, standing waiting. “It's a lovely party, isn't it?” Miss Tyler said, so softly that she was almost whispering. “The garden looks so pretty.”

“It's a
lovely
party,” Harriet said.

Miss Tyler leaned forward and put her hand on Harriet's arm. “I knew it was a mistake to have the Roberts people, though,” she said. “
She's
very coarse.” She shook her head sadly and went on, “I can't imagine why Brad is so polite to her. It's not his nature to be polite to coarse people.”

“He's very polite,” Harriet said.

“
Always
be polite,” Miss Tyler said. She looked at Harriet and said, “You'll never be pretty, of
course
, but you can practice great fascination. The pretty ones always fade, always.” Harriet tried to say something, something self-contained, but Miss Tyler went on hurriedly, “Take me, for instance, you wouldn't think now that I was so pretty once.”

She tilted her head flirtatiously, and Harriet said, “Yes, I would think so, Miss Tyler.”

“Nonsense,” Miss Tyler said, and laughed lightly. “His wife is the fascinating one,” she said, and when Harriet stared, Miss Tyler said, “His wife, Brad's. My sister. She's always been the fascinating one. You're lucky, you won't ever be pretty.”

Harriet knew already that this would keep her heartsick for months, perhaps the rest of her life, and she said thickly, “I'm losing weight right now.”

“It isn't that you're so
fat
,” Miss Tyler said critically. “You just don't have the
air
of a pretty woman. All your life, for instance, you'll walk like you're fat, whether you are or not.”

Harriet thought she was going to cry; her throat was numb, so she said harshly, “Where's the bathroom, please?”

“Oh,” Miss Tyler said. She touched the doorway next to them. “Right in there,” she said. “I had no idea you were in such a
hurry
.”

Harriet went into the bathroom, and Miss Tyler walked slowly through the house to the kitchen. She stopped at the kitchen door and looked through the people inside until she found Mr. Ransom-Jones. When he saw her she waved, and he came over to the door where she was standing, with his glass in his hand and a leftover smile still on his face.

“It's a lovely party, Brad,” Miss Tyler said, looking fragilely up at him. “Thank you
so
much for including me.”

“Having a good time?” he asked.

“Perfect,” Miss Tyler said, “except for—” She waved her hand toward the garden. “She's acting up,” she said. “I don't want to carry tales.”

“Don't worry about it,” Mr. Ransom-Jones said. His eyes began to wander, and he turned his head slightly to look back into the kitchen.

“I'm
not worrying,” Miss Tyler said easily. “Thank you again for the party.”

She moved out of the kitchen doorway, down the hall to the garden again. Mr. Ransom-Jones went back into the kitchen, to his place between Mrs. Donald and Mrs. Roberts. They got back to their singing.