Out of the Smoke

by Gerald N. Lund

“Ah.” Frank feigned a frown. “I’ve seen some of those French­men. That’s not good.”

  Celeste was instantly flustered. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Sorry. I was just teasing.”

  “Don’t! Not about that.” She looked up at him, and her eyes were enormous and filled with something that tore at his heart. “Frank, I want you to know that I have not so much as flirted with a man in the last two years. I haven’t dated anyone, or gone to dinner with anyone, or had a glass of wine with anyone.” She averted her eyes. “Not that I haven’t had the opportunity.”

  “I would be surprised if you hadn’t.” He hesitated. “And I want you to know that I have not taken a woman to dinner or had a drink with one or gone for a walk in the park or even flirted with the little six-year-old down the street since—” He stopped.

  Celeste bit her lower lip, telling herself not to answer, but she couldn’t stop it from coming out. “Since Margitte? Do you know how much I hate that word? Since.”

  Frank winced, turning away to watch the crowd. When he began speaking a moment or two later, his voice was flat and lifeless. “See that couple that Mom and Dad and Tina are with? That’s George and Evelyn Adams. Like Mom and Dad, they were one of the first families to come up here to the Blue Mountains. That was in 1887. Forty-four years ago now. They are a little older than Mom and Dad, but not much.”

  His gaze shifted to his parents. “Dad was only nineteen when they came. Mom was seventeen. Can you believe that?”

  “Frank, I—”

  “And that younger couple with them. That’s their daughter, Cornelia, or Nean, as everyone calls her. And her husband is Dan Perkins. He’s the son of Ben Perkins. His father was the man I told you about once, the one that tacked a wagon road onto the side of a cliff about two-thirds of the way down what they called in the Hole in the Rock. Dan is—”

  “Frank! I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t turn. “Dan is actually a grand uncle of Monte, Tina’s husband.” There was a short, mirthless laugh. “Of course, down here almost everyone is related to everyone else.”

  Celeste grabbed his elbow and turned him to face her. Her eyes were filled with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Her head dropped. “It’s just that . . . the pain is so deep, Frank.” She choked back a sob. “I can’t get Margitte’s face out of my head. I wish I had never seen her picture. I’ve tried and tried and tried to forget. But it hurts so badly.”

  “No,” he said slowly, “I’m the one that’s sorry. I’m the one who put that pain there. I just wish I knew how to fix it.”

  The tears were streaking her cheeks now, and she turned so that her back was to the people in the cemetery. “I don’t know either. I wish I did. I. . . .” And then a thought came to her. “Do you know what Mama thinks?”

  He turned back.

  “She thinks that part of it stems from what Daddy did to us.”

  “Oh?”

  “He betrayed me too. In a different way, but. . . . The two men in my life. The only two men I have ever loved.” She bit her lip, unable to go on.

  “And both of us caused you great pain.” Frank was nodding. “Your mother is a wise woman. How is she doing? Any chance that she’ll ever remarry?”

  “I think so. I hope so. She misses Daddy fiercely. They really did love each other.”

  “She is a beautiful and gracious woman.”

  “Who loves and respects you very much. She keeps telling me that it’s time to get over it, that I need to either break it off completely with you or put Margitte behind me once and for all.” Frank was clearly surprised by that, but he decided it was better to say nothing.

  “But. . . . I’m trying, Frank. I really am trying. And I think I’m finally getting over what Daddy did.” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “Here’s an irony. I can live with the fact that he put Mama and me into utter poverty and shamed us in front of our former friends. But the thing that makes me the angriest is that he jumped ship on us. That he couldn’t accept what he did, but instead left us to face it alone.”

  “I don’t want criticize your father, Celeste, but I have a theory why he took that way out.”

  “What?”

  “Everything he did in his life, he did well. Everything he put his hand to turned to gold, as it were. He never knew failure. I don’t think it was just you and your mom that he couldn’t face, or all of the investors in that scheme of his. I think he couldn’t face himself. Couldn’t get his mind around that fact that he, the great and successful Reginald Dickerson, had failed. Failed himself. And failed the two people he loved most in his life.”

  Celeste was staring out across the cemetery, her eyes glistening. “I think that is the kindest thing you’ve ever said about my father.” She sniffed back the tears. “And I think I’m finally coming to the point where I can focus on how much he loved me and put the rest aside. I’ve decided to leave it up to God to judge him.”

  “That’s good.”

  She turned back to face him. “Don’t give up on me yet, Frank. I’ve drawn up divorce papers three different times now, and I can’t bring myself to file them.” She wiped quickly at her cheeks with the back of both hands. “Doesn’t that say that I haven’t given up yet?”

  “Yes, but. . . . It’s been two years now, Celeste. Two years! What more can I do?” When she didn’t answer, Frank went on. “Sometimes I think all that’s holding you back from filing those papers is Reggie, not me. You know how much it will hurt him.”

  She stared up at him and then slowly shook her head. “It’s not just Reggie.”

  May 30, 1932, 10:15 p.m.—EDW Ranch, Monticello, Utah

  Frank looked up as he heard footsteps on the gravel. Someone was coming up the lane from the main ranch house. As the figure appeared, he jumped to his feet. “Celeste?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  He hopped down off the porch and went to her. “I thought you went to bed.”

  She laughed softly. “I did.”

  “But. . . .”

  “I’m glad you’re still up. Uh . . . can we talk?”

  “Um . . . sure. Of course.” Frank turned and pointed to where he had been seated on the porch.

  But Celeste shook her head. “Can we just walk? It’s such a beautiful night.” She tipped her head back and looked up. “I had forgotten how incredibly beautiful the stars are out here. It’s like someone had a wagonload of diamonds and it tipped over, scattering them across the sky.”

  Frank chuckled. “A physicist or an astronomer would describe it in other words, but I like your description much better.” He turned and pointed. “There’s a path that runs down along the creek. Shall we walk there?”

  “Yes, I remember it. That would be nice.”

  Neither of them spoke as they walked down to the creek and took the path that followed it upstream toward Horsehead Peak. A brilliant half-moon had risen in the east and provided enough light that they could see where they were going. They walked beside each other, but not close enough that their shoulders touched. Celeste slowed and looked over at Frank and then looked away again. “Thank you for insisting I go with you to the cemetery today.”

  Frank chuckled. “You’re welcome. Memorial Day is a big thing in small towns like ours. Putting flowers on the grave. Visiting with old friends. Catching up on family.” He sighed. “But more and more, some of Mom and Dad’s lifelong friends aren’t there anymore. Or rather, they’re there, but they have their own headstones now.”

  “Oh, Frank, don’t say that.”

  “I’m not talking about Mom and Dad. They’re only in their sixties and still in excellent health. And thank the Lord for that. But many of that pioneer generation are now in the cemetery. I wish you could have known some of them. They’re almost legends around here.”

  Celeste nodded but walked on in silence.
When she spoke again it was in a soft and subdued voice. “We never had any other family in Boston, so I don’t think I’ve ever even been to the cemetery there. And now. . . .” She looked away. “I’m guessing that no one put flowers on my father’s grave today.”

  What could you say to that? Knowing what Reginald Dickerson had done, he would be lucky if someone hadn’t knocked down his gravestone by now.

  “I dreaded going today,” Celeste went on, walking very slowly now. “I could picture everyone staring at us. Wondering if we were still married. Knowing about my father and all that. You know, coming up to talk, oozing with pity.”

  “I know. But I knew it wouldn’t be that way. And Mom and Dad wouldn’t have gone if we hadn’t.”

  “I know. That’s why I finally gave in.” She stopped and pointed ahead in the moonlight. “Oh, I forgot about that bench your father made and put there. Can we just sit for a while?”

  “Of course.” Frank’s mind was awhirl. This was not what he had expected. The “bench” was actually about an eight-foot length of a large pine tree that had been in sawn in half and then smoothed down and varnished. Frank walked over and brushed the dust off with his hand and then watched her as she sat down. He did not sit down beside her.

  They listened to the soft chirping of crickets and the brush of cedar limbs against each other as a light breeze caressed them. Watching Celeste, Frank wisely chose not to break the silence. A long time passed before she spoke again. “Do you realize that some of the families we met there at the cemetery today were four-generation families?”

  He peered at her. “They were what?”

  “Four-generation families. Parents, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren.”

  “Oh! Yeah. I hadn’t thought of it in that way. But why would that surprise you? Since your grandparents are still alive, that makes Reggie the fourth generation in your family.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said glumly, “but even though we live less than a mile away from them, he doesn’t have the relationship with my grandparents that Evelyn and George Adams have with their great-grandchildren. Did you watch them? Those little ones adore them as much as they love their parents. And it’s the same with your parents and their grandchildren. I love to watch them interact with each other. It’s so . . . so comfortable, even for the youngest children.”

  Feeling a little baffled by this turn in the conversation, Frank finally nodded. “That’s what you get in small towns like this, I guess.”

  “No,” she mused, “it’s what you get in families where family bonds are maintained through the generations. Like how your parents do it. Family dinners. Holiday celebrations. Working together on the ranch. Going on vacations together. Family councils, like the one we’re going to have tomorrow night. I’ve never thought of it in that way before, but it really hit me today for some reason.”

  “I guess it is pretty unusual, in a way.”

  “Mmmm.” Celeste was lost in her thoughts again.

  Frank wasn’t sure what to do. Or say. This was not the Celeste who had greeted him so coolly when he had first arrived at the ranch house. Was this why she had come? To talk about four-­generation families?

  She turned and looked up at him, her face illuminated in the soft moonlight. It almost took Frank’s breath away. She was so beautiful, and the pain that spread through him was palpable.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked softly.

  “Um. . . .” He shrugged.

  To his surprise, she patted the bench beside her. “Come sit down, Frank. There’s something I want to talk with you about.”

  He did so. He was strongly tempted to reach out and take her hand, but she had her hands folded in her lap, so he did the same.

  “Frank, I. . . . Tell me about your new job. At least as much as you can. I know it’s classified work, but. . . .”

  “It is classified,” he said, “and we had to sign a nondisclosure agreement. But I can say a little about it. It is an agency of the federal government. They are working in conjunction with other countries, primarily European, on a joint exploration of a concept called atomic energy. But I can’t say any more than that.”

  “What other countries?”

  “Great Britain. France. Italy. Enrico Fermi, who is ranked right up there with Einstein in terms of brilliance, will lead the Italian team.”

  She was suddenly watching him very closely. “What about Germany?”

  “Albert Einstein will be a consultant but not there full-time with us. But even though some of the world’s top physicists are in Germany, this is a government-to-government project, not just pulling scientists from other countries. So our government is a little nervous about how unstable the government in Berlin is right now and—” Then suddenly, it hit him why she had asked. “No, Celeste!” he said firmly. “I asked. No other Germans have been invited.”

  She looked away. “I’m sorry, Frank. But I had to know.”

  “I asked them specifically about that,” he said. “If there was any possibility that Margitte might be invited, I would not have accepted.”

  She studied him for a long moment but then seemed to accept that. “Thank you.”

  “It is an exciting opportunity for me.” He smiled. “And, since it’s the government, I will actually get an increase in salary of about fifteen percent.”

  “That’s wonderful, Frank. I’m really happy for you.”

  “Thank you.” On impulse, he reached over and took one of her hands. She tried to pull it away, but he held on to it. “Look at me,” he said. When she didn’t, he leaned over and peered into her eyes. “Celeste Dickerson Westland, I swear to you with every fiber of my being that if for any reason Margitte Schnable is asked to participate in this program, even if she never comes to America, on that day I will turn in my resignation.”

  Celeste’s eyes were suddenly glistening. “You would do that? Really?”

  Frank sighed, and it was filled with great longing. “I’ve told you before. I would do anything to make right what I did to you. So yes, I would do that. I will do that.”

  He felt a little thrill go through him as she squeezed his hand for a moment. “Thank you.” Then she pulled her hand free and brushed at her cheeks. “That means a lot to me. More than I can say.”

  Then, to his surprise, she stood up and turned to face him. “Frank?”

  “Yes?”

  “I have an offer for new employment as well.”

  “What!”

  “Yes. They called me the week before I left Paris.”

  “They did? Who? Someone in France?”

  “No.”

  “They want you back at Wellesley?”

  She smiled. “Yes, but that’s not it. I’m never going back to Boston, Frank. Not ever.”

  “Then where?”

  “In New York City, actually. Columbia University has offered me an assistant professorship in French art history and literature.” She chuckled. “I guess they think because I’m fluent in French, I’ve read all the classics in French literature.”

  He was up beside her in a moment. “Celeste, that’s incredible.” He shook his head. “Columbia? Wow!”

  She actually laughed aloud, and it was like music in the night to him. “Do you really think so?” she said. “You’re not just saying that to get me to come back to America?”

  “No! Well, yes, that too. But Columbia? They are one of America’s premier universities, Celeste. When would you start?”

  “If I accept, it would be this fall. I. . . . At first I told them no. I love teaching at the Sorbonne. And I love Paris. But they told me they don’t need an answer right now. They want me to think about it.”

  Frank frowned. “How does your mother feel about that? Would she come back with you?”

  “No! She swears she’s never coming back to America. So I haven’
t told her yet.” She took his hand and pulled him back to the bench. As they sat down, she let go of his hand and turned to face him, very serious now. “This is why I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about it.” She hesitated. “About us.”

  “That’s good.” He actually wanted to punch his fist into the air.

  “Maybe.” She was very earnest now. “Frank, I will be completely honest with you. There is one part of me that wants very much to make this thing between us work.”

  “As do I!”

  “But another part of me is still afraid. Afraid of getting hurt again. I mean, really, really afraid. I couldn’t bear another time like what we went through.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good, because though one part of me aches to go for it, another part of me is not ready to say, ‘All is forgiven. All is well,’ and have us start living as husband and wife again. There are still too many things to be worked out.”

  “I agree. So what do you propose?”

  “I’m not proposing anything yet. But here is what I’ve been thinking. And I want to know what you think. And I really, really need you to be completely honest with me, Frank. Promise that you’ll do that.”

  “You have my solemn word on it.”

  “As I said, I love Paris and I love France. But Reginald hates it. Oh, he’s adjusting to it, but he hates it. What you’re seeing in him now, here in Utah, is amazing. It’s like he’s this totally different person. He’s so happy. So open. Laughing all the time. Oh, I know that part of it is being here with your family. And being back on the ranch.” She chuckled. “The morning after we arrived, he and Abby and Benji rode horses up into the mountains. They were gone all day. He came back positively glowing.”

  “He does love it, there’s no question about that.”

  “But I’m not going to give him up and let him stay here permanently, Frank. I couldn’t bear that. To come out for the summers, yes. I’m fine with that, but. . . .” She shrugged. “Believe it or not, that’s one good thing that has come out of France. He doesn’t like it there, but he and I have really bonded.”