The Proud Shall Stumble

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Well, you’re right, Reggie, I don’t—”

  “Don’t call me Reggie!” Mr. Dickerson shrieked so loudly that it made the phone crackle.

  “I don’t have any high-powered lawyers, or city councilmen in my pocket,” Frank said. “But I do remember Celeste telling me about a little run-in you and the editor-in-chief of the Boston Globe had over practices at your bank.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath.

  “If I’m remembering it right, you accused him of slander and won a healthy settlement from the bank. Left a real bad taste in his mouth. Wonder what he’d say if I told him—”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “You try and kick me out of my own house, and I’ll be camped in his office an hour later. I’ll bet a story about the great Reginald Dickerson’s son-in-law being forced out of his home because of false accusations of adultery would get his attention. That’s what I mean by a gunfight, sir. So here’s all I have to say. I want to talk with Celeste. I’ll come there, or she can come here, or I’ll meet her wherever she wants. But not over the phone. She will come alone, and you will butt out of this. This is between me and her. And by the way, did she ask you to draft divorce papers, or is that just another way of”—his tone turned mocking—“‘Daddy helping out’?”

  Suddenly another voice came on the line, and Frank recognized it instantly. It was Babette, and she was evidently on another extension. How long had she been listening?

  “Reginald,” she said with some asperity, “I want to talk to Frank, and I don’t want you interrupting.”

  “You stay out of this, Babette.”

  “Hello, Babette,” Frank said softly.

  “Good morning, Frank.” They could hear Reginald huffing and puffing, but for the moment he was silent.

  “I am so sorry, Babette. But it is not what you think it is.”

  “I’ve seen the photos, Frank.”

  So his were not the only copies. He should have known that. And did they have other photos? Again he wondered how long they had been photographing him and Margitte. He took a quick breath. “You haven’t seen photos of us in bed, Babette, because that never happened.”

  “Hang up, Babette,” Reginald cried. “He is a liar and an adulterer and a thief.”

  “Thief?” Frank cried incredulously. “I’m not the one making millions off of destitute farmers.”

  “Reginald!” Babette’s voice came out harsh and curt. “Hang up! You are not helping here.”

  There was more harrumphing in the background, followed by a click, followed by a long silence. Then Babette spoke. “You are not helping yourself here, Frank. Believe me when I say, you do not want my husband for an enemy.”

  Frank was suddenly tired. “He’s been my enemy since the first time Celeste brought me home.”

  She ignored that. “Celeste is taking a bath. I think it’s best if you don’t come here. Reginald isn’t going to the bank today. So expect her at your house around nine o’clock. All right?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  There was another long pause, then, “Celeste is deeply hurt, Frank. If you don’t handle this right, there will be divorce papers, and they won’t come from Reginald. Do you understand that?”

  “I do.”

  “And will you take one more piece of advice from your mother-in-law?”

  “Of course.”

  “I know that Celeste has some responsibility in what’s been happening in your marriage, but if you don’t take full responsibility for what happened in Berlin. . . . Well, I think you’ll lose her.”

  And then Babette said something that nearly floored him. “I love you, Frank. And I know that you deeply love my daughter. Please don’t drive her away. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to her. She knows that too. That’s why she is so heartbroken right now.”

  August 18, 1929, 9:05 a.m.—Westland Residence,

  Newton, Massachusetts

  When Frank opened the door, Celeste didn’t look at him as she pushed past him and went into the living room. She was dressed in a yellow halter top with blue polka dots and a matching yellow skirt that ended just above her knees. She wore a broad-brimmed sun hat that matched the blue of the polka dots. On her feet were white boat shoes with no socks. Frank watched her remove her hat and brush her fingers through her hair, and his heart ached. He almost told her how beautiful she was but wisely decided this was not the time.

  Frank shut the door and went into the living room, taking the chair opposite Celeste. She still didn’t look at him but instead turned her head to stare out the window. Two full minutes went by without either of them speaking.

  “Would you like me to begin?” Frank finally asked.

  Celeste half turned. “Begin what?” Her voice was cool and distant.

  “I’d like to explain what happened with me and Margitte.”

  “Is that her name?”

  “Yes.”

  “How old is she?”

  “She’s two years younger than I am.”

  Celeste shot him an incredulous look. “She looks nineteen.”

  Frank let out a slow breath. “She’s twenty-three, Celeste. She has her doctorate in theoretical mathematics and starts this fall as an assistant professor at the Institute.”

  “Oh my,” she said, finally meeting his gaze. “Young. Beautiful. Intelligent. No wonder.” Then anger twisted her features. “And German. Talk about adding insult to injury. A French woman would have been bad enough, but a German?”

  “Celeste, I. . . .”

  “Did you know her before? When you were doing your graduate work?”

  “I did. She was a student in a class I was asked to teach the second year I was there. When I learned how gifted she was in mathematics I requested her as a graduate assistant.”

  “Yeah,” Celeste muttered, “I can see how gifted she is.”

  “It wasn’t like that, Celeste. She was an assistant, that’s all.”

  “So there was nothing between you before? Swear it?”

  As he hesitated she pounced on it. “Oh, Frank!” she cried, tears coming to her eyes.

  “No, Celeste! Will you let me answer before you jump to conclusions? There was nothing between us except being friends and associates. I swear it. What I was going to say is that during that last summer, as I graduated and was getting ready to come back home, she came to say good-bye.”

  “Where?”

  That question took him aback. “Where?” he repeated. Then he understood. “It was at the train station. Out in the open for all to see. Celeste, I swear to you, I have never been inside her flat, nor she inside mine.”

  “That’s a relief, because I’m sure there are no hotels in Berlin.”

  “Do you want me to finish or not?”

  There was a brief nod, so Frank went on. “As we shook hands, Margitte suddenly leaned in and kissed me.”

  “On the lips?”

  “Yes. And no, I didn’t kiss her back. I was caught off guard by it, and I just stood there in surprise. Then she turned and hurried away.”

  “How touching.”

  “Celeste, I know you have every reason not to trust me, but on the boat home, I decided that the only way I could ever hope to make this right with you is to be perfectly honest, even if it hurts you, and even if it means that you want nothing more to do with me.”

  “That would be nice,” Celeste said, even more sarcastically this time. Frank said nothing.

  After a time she spoke again, this time very softly. “So she loved you, even back then?”

  “I think there’s much more to love than being infatuated with your professor.”

  “Oh, please!” Then she quickly added, “So was she waiting for you when you arrived this year? Did you write and tell her you were coming?”

  “No!�
� Frank said it very firmly. “She had no idea I was coming. I assumed she was no longer there. She was supposed to graduate this last spring. Very few people knew I was coming. I was there to do some private research in their library for that project I’m doing here at M.I.T.” He sighed. “So anyway, a day or two after I arrived, I had come out of my office at about six o’clock. I was done for the day and going back home. It was raining lightly, and as I came around a corner, this woman was hurrying toward me, but she had her umbrella down and didn’t see me until she bumped into me.”

  “How convenient.”

  Frank leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “Why ask the questions if my answers mean nothing to you?”

  “All right. I’m sorry. But I do have some rather deep feelings about this.”

  “I know, and I am sorry for that. Deeply sorry.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me, then?”

  So he did. Frank told her how he and Margitte had talked for a few minutes and then gone to a nearby restaurant for dinner. He told Celeste how his research project required extensive, complicated mathematics and how Margitte had helped him.

  “So you met every day?”

  “Usually, yes.”

  “Did you walk her home every night?”

  “I did not. When we were done working together, we’d go our separate ways.” Frank’s head came up. “You know that I tried to call you several times and could never get—”

  Celeste almost shot out of her chair. “Don’t you put this on me, Frank. Don’t you dare.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” he replied. But then the memory of his frustrations flared up in him. “But where were you, Celeste? We agreed that we would talk three times a week at the least. I called you numerous times. I left messages. And I got nothing.”

  “I called you back,” she said hotly.

  “Maybe twice,” he said wearily. “And the last time you were in such a hurry I didn’t even get one word in.”

  “I’m sorry,” Celeste snapped. “I thought I told you. When I got there, they had a faculty cancellation and asked me to teach his class too. I was running day and night to keep up.”

  “I understand. I’m not trying to make excuses for myself.” The look she shot him told him how she felt about that. Frank hurried on, wanting to be done with it. “On the Friday before I was to leave, Margitte was leaving the next morning to go visit her family. She wouldn’t be back until Monday morning about the same time I was leaving for Paris. So we went to dinner together, and then I walked her home.”

  “Hoping for what?” Celeste asked. She was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. Don’t answer that.”

  Frank began to massage his temples with his fingertips as he went on, debating how much to say about that night. Then he remembered his vow. “We stood there under the street lamp for a few minutes. Margitte then told me that she had considered inviting me up to her flat for the night.”

  There was a low cry and Celeste looked away.

  “But she didn’t. And do you know why?”

  “Because she’s a religious girl?” she guessed bitterly.

  “No, because she said that she knew it would hurt you very deeply, and she couldn’t bear to do that.”

  Celeste gave him an incredulous look.

  “Believe it not, that’s what she said. Then she turned and started for her flat.” Frank was staring at his hands now. “And that’s when I went to her and kissed her good-bye. And then, as I stepped back, she came to me. And she kissed me back.”

  “Oh, yes, I could see that. Poor Frank. The predatory German female goes after the innocent and naive American male.”

  He got up and went to the window, fighting back the urge to strike back at her.

  Celeste spoke again. “And if she had invited you up to her flat, would you have gone?”

  “No, I couldn’t do that.”

  There was no response to that. He turned and found her staring at nothing. “May I ask you a question?” he said.

  Celeste’s head came around and Frank could see the hurt and anger in her eyes. “What? Did I have a ‘harmless flirtation’ with one of my students while in Paris? No, Frank, I did not. Did I go to dinner with any male students of mine? No, Frank, I did not. Did I passionately kiss anyone good-bye before I left Paris? No, Frank, I . . . did . . . not! So what other questions do you have?”

  “What did I ever do to you that led you to hire a private investigator to follow me?”

  Celeste blinked, her face flushing.

  “Were you having me watched clear back when I was doing my doctorate? I’m just curious.”

  “Is that what you think? That I’m a jealous wife?”

  “What am I supposed to think, Celeste? That some photographer just happened by when I was saying good-bye to Margitte, and then that photographer somehow got those pictures to you a day or two later because he just happened to know where you were living in Paris? Come on, Celeste. How naive do you think I am? So what gives?”

  Once again she was staring at her hands. “It was Daddy.”

  “Oh, come on, Celeste. Your father was having me followed?”

  “One of Daddy’s vice presidents was in Berlin for a big banking conference. I guess his bank has loaned German manufacturers a lot of money and so this man was one of their guests of honor. Knowing that he was not far from the Institute, Daddy asked him to go down and say hello to you.”

  “How thoughtful of him. Just say it, Celeste. He sent him down there to check up on me.”

  “I’m telling you what Daddy told me,” she snapped. “Anyway, as he was almost to your flat, he saw you and Margitte going into a restaurant. So he called Daddy and told him. And without saying anything to me, Daddy asked him to hire a private investigator to start tailing you.”

  “And how long did that go on?”

  “For about a week. Then he followed you that night and took the pictures of the two of you under the lamppost. The investigator got the pictures developed and gave them to Daddy’s associate. That was Friday night. By Saturday afternoon copies of them had arrived by special courier in Paris.” Her voice caught. “Daddy tried to call me to warn me, but as you know, I don’t answer my phone much. So when I got the package from him, I had absolutely no idea what it was.”

  Frank buried his face in his hands. “Oh, Celeste. No wonder you locked me out of the house.”

  She turned to face him fully now. “So let me ask you one last question, and then I’ll go.” She was suddenly pleading. “And please, Frank, please be honest with me. If there had been no private detective, would you have ever told me about Margitte?”

  Frank rocked back. He hadn’t seen that one coming. “I—” He shook his head slowly. “I’d like to think I would have, but I can’t say that for sure. All I know is that I love you, Celeste. And it feels awful to know how much I have hurt you.”

  “You can’t possibly know how much you have hurt me,” Celeste said in an anguished whisper.

  There was nothing to say to that, so Frank sat back. Another long silence, and then Celeste spoke. “I want you to know that I haven’t filed the divorce papers.”

  “That’s not what your father said,” Frank said bitterly.

  “He’s had them prepared, but he did it without me knowing.”

  “Of course. Do you think that he will ever let you grow up?”

  She visibly flinched.

  “Sorry. That was a cheap shot.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “So, are you going to file them?”

  “I don’t know, Frank,” Celeste shot right back. “I’m certainly not ready to take you back in my arms and say that all is forgiven.”

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  “Good. Because I’m not.”

  “I’ll be here when you make that decision.” Fr
ank leaned forward then, his face earnest now. “But if you do decide we should try again, we have to talk about changing the way we live.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I mean, living apart for months and years at a time. Both of us working full-time, never seeing each other except as we grab a cup of coffee and a roll for breakfast or when we fall into bed at night. We’re two strangers sharing the same house and the same bed.”

  “I know,” Celeste agreed.

  “I love you, Celeste, and I want to be with you. I want us to be a family. I want us to keep our son with us, not in Utah, and definitely not in some hellhole of a boarding school.”

  Celeste’s eyes were wide now. She had not expected this. “Are you asking me to give up my career as a teacher?”

  “I. Yes. No. . . .” Frank threw up his hands. “I don’t know, Celeste. It’s not just you. I’m as guilty of being on the run all the time as you are. I don’t know how to fix things, but this I do know: my Grandpa Westland used to say, ‘Nothing works unless you do.’ Well, if you can ever find it in your heart to forgive me, then I’d like us both to really work at trying to fix this.”

  After a few moments, Celeste nodded. “I agree. But first, we’ve got to fix us, Frank. And that’s not going to be easy. And it’s going to take time.” Instantly, her eyes were filled with tears. “I really want to believe that you never slept with her. That would make a big difference. But do you know what hurts the most, almost even more than sleeping with her would hurt?”

  “What?”

  “That you loved her.”

  Frank flinched but then started to respond. Celeste shook her head. “No denials, please. I can see it in your eyes when you speak of her. I can see it in that photo of you kissing her. And that cuts more deeply than I thought was possible.”

  “I never loved her like I love you.”

  “But you loved her.” Celeste put on her sun hat. “I’ve got to go. Good-bye, Frank.”

  She got up and went to the door. He got up and followed. “You look very lovely today, Celeste.”

  Her head came around with a snap. “I’m not ready for compliments yet, Frank.”