Ernestine thought there was merit to that suggestion. She placed the moist fag between her thumb and middle finger, optimistically took sight on the top of the tallest dune, and flicked. The cigarette shredded open and landed six inches from her hand, where she buried it quickly in the sand.
Later that morning, on the way home from the beach, Anne told Ern she had started smoking about six months before, and had intended to break the news to Dad when she got home for summer vacation. After Dad died, she hadn’t wanted to add to Mother’s immediate worries, so she didn’t say anything about it.
“Everybody smokes all the time at college,” she said. “I didn’t my freshman year, but it’s hard to keep refusing them, like a wet blanket.”
“Did you get the habit?” Ern wanted to know.
“Sometimes,” Anne admitted, “I’d get rid of a pack a week.”
“It gets a grip on you all right,” Ernestine agreed. “I believe I’ve got the habit from that first one. I’m dying for another right now.”
“You might have got the chewing habit, but I don’t see how you could have got the smoking habit. You’re not supposed to suck them, you know.”
“I do now,” Ernestine nodded. “Are you going to tell Mother about your smoking?”
“Our smoking, you mean,” said Anne. And then imitating Ern: “‘I seem to have left my ciggies at home.’ Please, don’t ever call them that again!”
“Well, are you going to tell her?”
“I suppose so,” Anne admitted. “Eventually. I don’t like to do anything behind her back.”
She fished in the pocket of her beach coat, where there were a package of cigarettes Morton had given her, and a package of Lifesavers she had bought at the bathhouse.
“Meanwhile,” she said, offering the Lifesavers to Ern, “we’d better have a couple of these.”
At Mother’s suggestion, the two oldest girls had moved their belongings out to one of the lighthouses, so they could sleep later in the mornings. Mother thought they were entitled to some quiet and privacy, after being in charge while she was in Europe.
In the lighthouse, Anne kept her promise that very night and taught Ernestine how to smoke. Ernestine was not a particularly apt pupil, but had a strong thirst for knowledge. The girls used up more than half of the package of cigarettes, before Anne deemed her sufficiently checked out to solo.
“And I want you to give me your word,” Anne said, “that you won’t smoke at least until you’re in college.”
“You mean not for a whole year?” Ernestine asked. “No, sir. I couldn’t make any promise like that.”
“Oh, one or two a week when you’re out on a date or something, might be all right. But no more than that. And not where Martha and the boys can see you.”
“One or two a week would be fine,” Ernestine agreed. “Just enough to soothe the craving inside of me.”
“We don’t want to set a bad example. After all, look what happened when you saw me light one.”
“I promise,” Ernestine said solemnly.
The girls had kissed Mother goodnight before going to the lighthouse, which was within a few feet of The Shoe. Ordinarily, Mother went to bed about nine o’clock, read sleepily for half an hour—her only free time of the day—and then fell asleep. She usually got up at 5:30 or 6 in the morning, to be with the younger children.
That night, for some reason, she had been restless. Reading hadn’t made her sleepy. She was lonesome, and wanted company. All the younger children had gone to bed, but she saw from her window that a streak of light was coming from under the door of the lighthouse. Mother put on her bathrobe and slippers, and headed for the lighthouse to chat with the girls.
Mother thought that children were entitled to privacy, just as much as adults, and never went busting, or tiptoeing either, into anyone’s room. So, while several feet away from the lighthouse, she stopped and called softly.
“Girls. Annie, Ern. Yoohoo. It’s Mother. May I come in?”
There was no immediate response from the interior, where the girls were ducking out their cigarettes, hiding the ashtray under Anne’s bed, filling their mouths with Lifesavers, and waving towels to try to get some of the smoke out the window.
“It’s Mother,” she called again. “May I come in?”
“Come on in, Mother,” Anne called heartily, going to the door. “I thought I heard someone calling before, but I wasn’t sure.”
Mother started up the steps and into the lighthouse, which was blue with smoke.
“I wasn’t sleepy,” she explained, “and I saw your light on. I thought I’d just come out for a visit, if you two aren’t too tired. I really haven’t had a good chance to talk with …”
The full impact of the smoke hit her as she entered the door, and she coughed.
“Something’s on fire,” she shouted. “Don’t you girls smell it?”
“No it isn’t,” said Anne. “Something was on fire. It’s out now.”
“Whew,” whistled Mother, sitting down on Ernestine’s cot. “It scared me half to death. What happened?”
“Well,” Anne blushed, “I may as well tell you now. I’ve been smoking. I was going to tell you about it. I was going to tell you tomorrow—or the next day, anyway.”
“Smoking,” said Mother. “So that’s it.” She choked and coughed. “Why there’s enough smoke in this room to nominate Mister Harding.”
“I’ve been smoking too,” Ernestine said miserably. “I was going to tell you, too.”
“It’s my fault, I guess,” Anne said. “I taught her how.”
It was obvious Mother didn’t like it. Her first impulse may have been to weep, to protest, to implore, to scold. But she knew that what she said was going to be important in her future relationship with the girls. So she didn’t weep, and she didn’t say anything until she had taken time to think the matter through.
“In my day,” she finally began, “nice girls didn’t smoke. I know that’s all changed. It’s a mistake for me to look at it in terms of what was right in my day. I still don’t approve, and it wouldn’t be honest for me to make believe I did.”
“You make me feel like a dog,” said Anne, almost in tears. “If you want, I’ll promise never to do it again.”
“I don’t approve of promises like that,” Mother told her. “Most people smoke nowadays, and it’s not right when parents make children promise not to do things that most people do.”
“Besides, she might break the promise,” Ernestine put in. “Those ciggies get a terrible hold on you, Mother.”
“When did you find that out, dear?” asked Mother, with some concern.
“Today,” said Ernestine.
“That’s not so bad, then,” Mother smiled. “Maybe you can even break the hold—for a couple of years, anyway.”
“I could fight against it,” Ernestine conceded.
“I’ve been trying to think up some good arguments against smoking,” Mother said, “but when you analyze them, they don’t seem too convincing.”
She started to enumerate the arguments, counting them off on her fingers.
“If you smoke you’ll have a bad reputation. I hate to let go of that one, but I’ll have to admit it doesn’t apply any more. It’s a shame, too!
“It’s bad for your health. That’s open to debate. Not so bad as overeating, or not getting enough sleep.
“It stunts your growth. I doubt it, and anyway you’re both grown.
“It’s a filthy habit. It’s not, really. Not half so filthy as gossiping or collecting old match boxes.
“It’s expensive. There!” Mother beamed triumphantly. “There’s a good argument. It is expensive, and can we afford it?”
“We don’t buy them,” Anne said. “Our dates always have them.”
“There goes my last argument,” Mother smiled, spreading her hands. “We’ll just say that I don’t like it, but that it’s a prejudice. I don’t believe in prejudices, so go ahead and light up, if you want to.�
�
Anne fished the cigarettes and ashtray from under the bed, and offered one to Ernestine.
“Not right now,” said Ernestine, whose throat and stomach were beginning to feel uneasy. “I believe my craving has been satisfied for this year—probably until I go to college.”
Anne helped herself to one, lighted it, and blew self-conscious smoke rings at the ceiling.
“Where are your manners?” Mother asked. “Aren’t you going to pass them to everybody? It looks as if it might be fun!”
“No, sir,” Ernestine protested.
“Oh, no you don’t,” said Anne, putting the cigarette package behind her back. “I’ve led one member of the family astray today. I’m not going to be responsible for anyone else’s downfall.”
Reluctantly, Anne stubbed out her smoke.
“That’s my last—if you’ll excuse the word—ciggie until I get back to college,” she declared. “The first thing you know, Jane might be smoking cigars. I believe it’d be safer to smoke in a nitroglycerine factory than around this house.”
WITH MORTON at her disposal, Anne’s social life was pretty well taken care of for the remainder of the summer. She still didn’t like him very well, but nothing better came along, and he did have a Hupmobile and a motorboat.
Ernestine searched diligently, but didn’t find a man until a week before the summer was over. Then she kept him a dark secret.
His name was Al Lynch, and he had a summer job down at the grocery store, where Ern had met him when she did the shopping. He was big, hearty, loud-talking and collegiate—a little too collegiate. He wore a wooly crimson sweater which sported a green block “S” letter and a bejeweled fraternity pin as large as a fifty cent piece.
All of us had seen Al, at one time or another, in the store, and he was not the sort of chap that one would easily overlook. Of all the sheiks on the island, his hair was the greasiest, his trousers-cuffs the widest, his fraternity pin the biggest, his football letter the flashiest, and his sweater the loudest.
He wasn’t exactly handsome, but his features were perfect, and he was sure he had a way with women.
We knew Ernestine was dating somebody that last week, because she had deserted Anne’s beach crowd and spent hours rolling up her hair after supper. But she didn’t go out at night, and he never came to call. We didn’t know until later that he worked nights checking stock, but had most of the mornings off.
Morton and four or five of Martha’s ever-present and ever-neglected beaux were on the dock to see us off for Montclair. This time there was no funny business about half-fare tickets, with Mother in charge. Tom, Frank, and the pets had left a couple of days before, so that Tom could get the house opened.
Anne allowed Morton to peck her on the cheek, which Mother pretended not to notice. Martha shook hands with her boys, and even condescended to clap them on the back.
Then we noticed Ernestine and Al. They were holding hands, both hands, and looking into each other’s eyes. The green “S” was still sewed securely to Al’s crimson sweater, but the fraternity pin was gone.
Ernestine finally tore herself loose from him. Agnes Ayres, taking leave of Rudolph Valentino to return to the old lecher she was being forced to marry because of his money, never played the scene any better.
“Wow,” shouted Bill. “Look at that hog dog in the sweater.”
“Isn’t that the boy who works at the grocery store?” Mother asked Anne. “How long has she been going with him?”
Half-way up the gangplank, Ernestine turned around, ran to Al, and flung herself into his arms. Miss Ayres never played that scene any better, either.
Even Mother was too surprised and shocked to make believe she hadn’t noticed that. Ernestine tore herself loose again, and raced radiantly up the gangplank.
“I don’t think that sort of thing ought to be done in public, dear,” Mother admonished her when she was safely aboard. Mother seldom took any of us to task before the other children, but it seemed time for an exception.
“Or in private either,” Anne agreed. “The idea—a girl your age.”
“I know it,” Ernestine said, throwing back her head and looking at the clouds. “I didn’t intend to do it. I tried not to do it. But there was something like a powerful magnet pulling me back to his heart.”
“So that’s what that green thing shaped like an ‘S’ is,” Anne scoffed. “A magnet. Does it light up?”
“Jealousy,” intoned Ernestine, still looking at the clouds, “ill becomes you, you unfortunate wench whose troth is all but plighted to a beanpole.”
“Becomes me ill is right,” said Anne. “Me becomes very ill—sick to my stomach.”
Mother shooed the younger children away.
“I’m sure he’s a lovely boy,” she told Ernestine.
Anne hooted. “You can tell he thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
“You just can’t bear to see your younger sister engaged before you are, can you?” Ernestine snapped, coming down from the clouds and looking Anne squarely in the eye.
“Engaged?” Mother almost shouted. “Do you mean to tell me that you and that … I’m sure he’s a lovely boy,” she repeated quickly.
Ernestine pulled back her topcoat, and there was the fraternity pin.
“I never saw such a big one,” Anne admitted. “If you had another just like it, you wouldn’t need to wear anything else above the waist. What’s the fraternity?”
“Tau Tau Tau,” Ernestine said proudly.
“Never heard of it. And what high school is the ‘S’ for?”
“You know perfectly well it’s not for any high school,” Ernestine hollered. “Make her stop, Mother.”
“Sometimes I think I can’t make any of you stop anything,” Mother sighed.
“Excuse me,” Anne said. “What institution of higher learning is the two-foot ‘S’ for?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Al is twenty-one, and a junior at Sagiwan Agricultural and Technical College. I suppose you never heard of that, either?”
“Did you?” Anne asked.
“Everyone knows about Sagiwan Agricultural. Just because it’s not full of snobs like Amherst and Harvard and Princeton.”
“A Tau Tau Tau at Saggie Aggie,” said Anne, shaking her head. “Saggie Aggie. It’s got a catchy sound—sort of Indian, and sort of like a fat woman who needs a corset.”
“I think,” said Ernestine, bursting into tears, “that you’re the most hateful person in the world. I really do.”
“Gosh, can’t you take a little kidding?”
“You and Martha both having the time of your lives all summer,” sobbed Ernestine. “And finally … and finally …”
“I’m sorry,” Anne choked, putting her arm around Ernestine’s waist. “After all, as you say, that Morton isn’t any rose. He’s sure a beanpole, isn’t he? And Al is cute, all right, I’ve got to admit that.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Ernestine, blowing her nose.
“Gosh, yes!” Anne fibbed.
“Where does he live, dear?” Mother asked.
“In upper New York State. Why does everything have to happen to me, Mother?” she sniffed. “Just as vacation is over, it has to happen to me. Now I won’t see him again until the Christmas holidays.”
“Christmas holidays?” Mother asked.
“I’m going to meet him in New York,” Ernestine said. “He’s coming down especially.”
“Maybe he could come to visit us during the holidays,” Mother suggested.
“Could he?” Ern shouted ecstatically, hugging Mother. “Do you think he could?”
“I don’t see why not,” Mother said. “After all, if you’re going to marry him, I’d like to meet him first.”
“Oh, I guess we’ll never get married,” Ern said gaily. “Just engaged. Al says he’s not the marrying kind. Al says why buy a cow, when milk’s so cheap.”
“Why, where does he think …” Anne began.
“It
would be fine if he could come,” Mother interrupted. “Much better than your meeting him in New York. He sounds, well, very interesting, dear.”
“Gee, he sure is,” Ernestine agreed. “Will you loan me your pen? I’m going to write him right now and invite him.”
Ernestine went into the lounge, and Anne and Mother exchanged knowing glances.
“Do you know what I think?” Anne teased her. “I think you’re a scheming woman. I can see right through you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mother grinned sheepishly.
8. Shopping Tour
EVERY AUTUMN MOTHER TOOK the boys into New York on a shopping trip, to get them clothes for the coming year. This year, to save time she decided to get the shopping out of the way as we passed through the city, en route from Nantucket to Montclair.
The trip to New York was accomplished relatively painlessly. Anne took the girls, including a moon-eyed Ernestine, who almost had to be led by the hand, on to Montclair. Then Mother and the boys headed for a department store that was featuring a back-to-school sale.
Mother believed that self-expression was essential to a child’s development, and always gave us a free hand in picking our clothes. She might advise, but she never vetoed.
Before leaving Nantucket, Ernestine, as chairman of the purchasing committee, had inventoried the condition of the boys’ clothes, and had given Mother a list of requirements.
It was decided that each boy would get one new suit, and also would be handed down a suit from the brother immediately above him in the age scale. Frank, being the oldest and not in line for a hand-down, would get two new suits. New shirts, ties, socks, underwear and shoes—which seldom lasted long enough to be handed down—also were needed by all the boys.
Frank was in Montclair with Tom, so he wasn’t included on the shopping trip. Mother thought that, being thirteen, he was old enough to get his own clothes, anyway.
In the subway on the way uptown from Barclay Street, the boys agreed that any suit bought would have to please not only its immediate possessor, but the next youngest brother who would be its ultimate owner.
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