The Open Gate

by Kate Seredy

  CHAPTER I

  BLESSING IN DISGUISE

  FATHER and Mother sat looking at each other in the living room of their sound-proofed, air-conditioned apartment. Gran, Father’s mother, stood by the imitation fireplace, peering from one to the other over her old-fashioned glasses. Early June sunshine poured into the room through closed windows and with it came the faint hum of afternoon traffic. It droned and buzzed like an angry fly against the window. The busy city thoroughfare from which it came was fifteen stories below the Preston apartment. Usually one had to listen closely to hear the noise at all, but now, in the strained silence of the room it sounded very loud.

  Long minutes went by and still no one said a word. Gran cleared her throat several times—each time a little louder—but no one looked at her. She began to fidget. Something was wrong! John had come home from the office too early; Gran had heard him come in, heard his voice as he spoke to Molly in the hall and heard Molly gasp:

  “Oh, John! What a shame!” Then silence. She had followed them into the living room and found them just as they were now, staring at each other.

  Like dummies in a shopwindow, thought Gran and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Now this pesky showcase of an apartment is complete—with dummies. Her smile grew into a chuckle and she said aloud: “It’s perfect. All we need are some price tags.”

  “Huh?“ Father came to with a grunt. “What . . . what do we need price tags for?” He frowned when he noticed Gran’s smile.

  “Oh, Mom, it isn’t funny . . .“ he began, but Gran was laughing now.

  “It was, a moment ago. It was a perfect picture for the sort of drivel you write for the office. OUR loss is YOUR Gain! To make room for new merchandise, we offer you, TODAY only this MAGNIFICENT modern livingroom . . . complete with dummies for only five dollars DOWN and UP to ten years to pay.”

  “Honestly, John,” Gran said, suddenly serious, “I will never understand why you cling to that job. Advertising Manager for Karspin’s Giant Department Chain. . . . Fiddlesticks! Barker for Karspin’s Giant Gyp Show is what your job should be called.”

  “Gran!” Mother gasped, casting an anxious glance at Father’s face. He smiled a little twisted smile and said in a low voice:

  “You are right, Mom; only now it’s EX-barker. Karspin’s new son-in-law is the advertising manager and I am without a job.”

  “Praises be!” Gran exclaimed happily. “I’ll send Karspin a box of cigars AND my opinion of him. The idea! Pushing a man out after nine years. . . . God bless him! He ought to be ashamed of himself but it’s the best thing that happened to you, Son, since the day you came down with scarlet fever.”

  Mother started to laugh. “Gran, you are hopeless. What’s so good in coming down with scarlet fever?”

  “Not much as a rule,” conceded Gran, “but that day the schoolhouse burned down and John wasn’t in it on account of the rash.”

  “Nobody was hurt anyway, Mom, you know that,” said Father with some asperity.

  “But you might have been if you had been there. Just like the time you were supposed to go to Chicago for old Karspin and couldn’t because I broke my leg. The train you would have been on got all smashed up. Nothing bad ever happens without some good being in it some place . . . depends on how you look at things.”

  Now Father was laughing too. “You’re great, Mom! Next you’ll be telling me that losing my job is a blessing.”

  “I AM telling you!” exclaimed Gran. “You just wait and in a little while you will bless this day and old Karspin for setting you free. I know . . . I know,” she hurried on when Father was about to speak, “that job was a lifesaver for you in 1932. Nobody wanted engineers then. But . . . don’t you see, John? The storm is over. The big factories are working again. Stop clinging to that raft! Strike out for a good harbor! You can do it!”

  “Attaboy, Gran!” said a young voice from the doorway. “When do we start and where are we going?” Twelve-year-old Dick strode into the room, scattering his cap, coat, and schoolbooks. “ ‘Lo, everybody. Listen, Dad: this is important. Have we got twenty-five bucks?”

  “Twenty-five—what?”

  “Dollars. Have we, Dad?“ Dick insisted. Father smiled.

  “WE have. Do WE need it right away for something TERRIBLY IMPORTANT?” He winked at Mother.

  Dick nodded eagerly. “Oh YES, Dad, it’s awfully important . . .” He stopped and grinned at his father. “You’re teasing, I know, but . . . WE HAVE? Yippeeee!” he yelled, whirling around. “We can do it then! Janet! Come here. We’ve got the money! Oh shucks! She’s eating again. Here, give me a bite.”

  “Brought you a whole slice,” mumbled eight-year-old Janet through a mouthful of bread and jam. She handed Dick a slab of dripping bread. Swallowing hard, she sent a quick, explanatory smile around. “ ‘Lo! Awfully hungry. Basketball practice. When do we go? Dad, you ought to see the pictures. It’s got everything—diving board and horses and indoor tennis court and outdoor restaurant and—”

  “Motorboats and fishing and EVERYTHING, Dad, for only twenty-five bucks for ninety-nine years.” Dick waved an illustrated catalogue he had fished out from among his schoolbooks.

  “It says here—look Dad— ‘In the heart of pictu . . . pic—anyway, something or other Sullivan County, nestled among pine-covered rugged mountain peaks, jewel-like Camp Emerald is the dreamland of every tired businessman.’ That’s you, Dad. Listen. It says here: ‘Because of the farsighted planning of Camp Emerald Inc. we are able to offer you now one of the few remaining modern cottages with all privi . . . pri—’ guess it means you can do as you please—’for the term of ninety-nine years for only . . .‘ ”

  “Shades of Karspin’s Giants !“ exclaimed Gran, throwing up her hands. Dick cast a distracted glance at her and went on reading:

  “For only the fraction of its original value. See, Dad? I told you. And look! It says in big red letters: ‘Don’t delay. Act NOW.’ See?” He perched on the arm of Father’s chair and traced the bold red lines with his finger. “Send us your retainer of $25 NOW.”

  “Where did you get this? ” Father asked, glancing through the folder.

  “From Billy Wright. His father bought one last week and Billy says it has a private dock so he can almost roll into the lake from his bed and it’s a double-decker the kind they have on boats with anchors and things and a real hurricane lantern over his head only it’s electric. Gee, Dad, if you wrote a check now, I could mail it before supper!”

  Janet had been trying to say something for a long time and now she chimed in:

  “That’s nothing. Martha Duffy’s father bought a cottage, too, and she says they go week-ends and never dress up or anything, just eat hot dogs in bathing suits . . . everybody! It’s swell! She says it’s supposed to be . . . rustic or something so they don’t even wash dishes, just use paper and burn it up. And she went fishing in the motorboat only they . . . the boat . . . hit something and she fell in the water. She can’t swim yet, so she yelled and the man who owns the boat jumped in after her and he got stuck in the mud because the lake isn’t very deep, so the boat then ran away and the man carried Martha to shore and Martha says she almost died laughing, it was so much fun. The things the man said and the boat running around in circles all by itself! Gee, it must have been grand!”

  “Must have,” commented Gran in a crackling dry voice. “That reminds me, Molly, we’d better get supper. And while I have anything to say about things, we will eat our food off china plates like civilized folks. Even if it’s hot dogs, I don’t want them in bathing suits.”

  Janet giggled. “It wasn’t the dogs in bathing suits, it was the people.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” snapped Gran. “You and Dick can go right now to wash up and change for s
upper—you too, John. Rustic Just plain lazy I call it. Come on, Molly!”

  Gran was hardly any bigger than Janet but, somehow or other when she gave an order, no one questioned it. Father rose obediently.

  “Yes, Mom.” He smiled at Janet’s crestfallen face and patted Dick’s shoulder. He waited until the door closed on Gran’s militant little figure, then whispered: “We’ll discuss it later.”

  Dick whispered back, his face intent, “But, Dad, we have to do it right away or the cottages will be gone !“

  “Oh no, Dick,” said Father, walking between his children toward the bedroom. “That is just salestalk. You know, Dick, the kind I used to write for Karspin’s.”

  “Oh!” Dick sighed, relief in his voice. Then he paused, standing still. He frowned. Janet was waiting for him in the doorway. “Go on, get started,” he said in a gruff voice. “It always takes you forever and a day to wash up.” Janet made a face at him and disappeared. Dick looked at Father. He spoke and his voice was half question, half statement.

  “You said—used to write for Karspin’s—and Gran, I heard part of what she said when I came in but it didn’t make any sense then . . . ”

  “Don’t miss much, do you, Dicky? Yes, I said ‘used to.’ I—well, straight from the shoulder, Dick, I lost my job today.”

  “Oh gee, Dad, I’m sorry. Look, we’ll just forget this camp business, huh? It sounded like a good investment but—I didn’t know.”

  Father put his arm around Dick’s shoulder. “On the contrary, Dicky,” he said, “we will think about it seriously. This folder gave me an idea. We have never had a real vacation in the country; not all of us together. This would be a good time. School will be over in a few days and we could . . .“ he paused, then went on, “or would you rather go to the Y camp we spoke about? ”

  “No Sirrreee ! ” Dick exploded. “Not if I can go with you. Could I? Could we? Honest, Dad?”

  “I really think . . . we . . . could,” said Father thoughtfully, with a smile in his eyes. Then he was laughing out loud. “I’ll be darned! Gran was right again, Dick. Losing my job is beginning to look like a blessing in disguise!”

  A rattle of dishes sounded from the kitchen and Father slipped his arm around Dick’s shoulder. “Come on, now; we’ll give ourselves a lick and a promise or Gran will send us to bed without supper. And listen, Dick, we won’t say anything about this yet—not tonight—anyway.”

  “You bet!” said Dick with a beaming smile as they disappeared through the bedroom door.

  CHAPTER II

  GRAN

  FATHER folded up his napkin carefully and leaned back in his chair. He had been talking to a breathless audience since they had finished Sunday breakfast and now he summed up his talk:

  “So, a week from Friday school will be over and we could plan on starting a week from today. Have a real vacation, all of us together at last and when it’s over, I’ll be ready for a real job. Well, what do you say? ” Mother smiled and nodded. “It sounds wonderful, John; we haven’t really loafed together since before Dick was born.”

  Dick and Janet were too excited to answer in words, but their faces looked like small twin suns, beaming this way and that.

  “What do you say, Mom? ” Father turned to Gran, who hadn’t said a single word yet, just sat glaring at the automatic toaster.

  “Is this thing through popping?” she asked suspiciously instead of answering him.

  “There is nothing TO pop!” Dick giggled. “Janet ate the last piece of bread—as always.”

  “Hmmph,” sniffed Gran, “I wouldn’t trust it for a moment. Well, Son,” she turned to Father, “you have a good idea there and I am all for it, even if for no other reason than to get out of this—this chromium-plated monkey cage you call an apartment. Push a button, toast hits you in the eye, turn a switch, the kitchen stove starts doing things on its own, throw garbage down a little hatch and what becomes of it, nobody knows. Windows you can’t open and a fireplace with electric gadgets in it to fool you; open a door and a bed comes down on your head. Push a button here and push a button there—I am sick of it! “I am losing my . . . my initiative! I’d give ten dollars for an hour with an honest kitchen range, the kind that takes orders from the cook, not the other way around.”

  Gran paused for breath and Father saw his chance. “That settles it then. We’ll go,” he said, laughing.

  “BUT,” said Gran, whacking the table with her small fist, “BUT if you are thinking of that . . . that tired businessman’s nightmare with noisy motorboats and hot dogs in bathing suits and bunks with imitation lanterns, count me out, John Ward Preston. I’ll stay right here and fight it out with these buttons I know.”

  Father looked embarrassed. “Well, we could just look at it—there’s no harm in that! I don’t have to buy everything I look at.”

  “No, not EVERYTHING,” said Gran in a voice that contradicted her words, looking around the room slowly. Her eyes rested meaning full on the shining modern radio set, the elaborate electric logs in the fireplace, the fantastic indirect lighting fixtures, the softly purring air-conditioning unit between the windows. “Not everything,” she repeated, giving Father a teasing smile, “unless it has a push button or two to make it work.”

  Father looked like a small boy caught raiding the candy jar and Gran’s eyes softened. “Never mind, John, I’m just a crotchety old busybody. Let’s look at that Camp Ruby or Diamond or whatever it is. and if we don’t like it, why don’t we drive up to brother Frank’s farm? That’s not so far from Sullivan County! Or . . .“ Gran’s face grew bright and she sat up very straight, “better still, why don’t we go to Frank’s first?”

  “No, MA’M!” Father exclaimed with great emphasis, shaking his head. “I know just what you are scheming, old Lady, and it won’t work. Uncle Frank is a busy farmer and we would be spending our vacation chopping wood and hauling water from the well and sitting up with sick cows. I remember farm life only too well, even if I was only five when we left ours. Not for me—ever again!” He turned to Mother, his eyes crinkling into a teasing smile. “Molly, wouldn’t you like to spend the summer helping Aunt Elisa—you don’t know her but take it from me, she’s quite a gal—helping her to put up a few thousand jars of preserves over a nice hot stove?”

  Mother gulped and said in a small voice: “I wouldn’t and I am afraid of cows.” She cast an apologetic glance at Gran. Gran had wilted noticeably and now she sighed:

  “Well, I didn’t expect it to work but it was a good try, anyway. Camp Emerald wins.”

  She got up and began clearing the table. Dick and Janet helped her. Father leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms. He smiled at Mother.

  “I’ll see the agent today; we’ll sublet the apartment for two months.”

  Mother said musingly: “Lease is up anyway on the first of October; maybe we could find a less expensive place in the fall.”

  “We’ll think about that in the fall,” said Father hastily. “That, and a job; I don’t want to start worrying now. We have saved a comfortable nest egg; must have about four thousand in the bank.”

  “Fifty-six hundred and ninety-seven dollars,” Mother said proudly. “I—I didn’t buy that fur coat after all, John.”

  Father frowned for a moment, then leaned forward and patted Mother’s hand. “Molly, I’ll turn this town upside down and get a good job and buy you the most elegant fur coat next winter.”

  “Think about it next winter,” Mother cut in, laughing. “Now we will think about bathing suits and fishing rods and . .

  “Here,” said Father eagerly, pulling paper and pencil out of his pocket, “I started a list last night.”

  They bent their heads close together over the paper and Mother began to read in a smiling whisper:

  “Hiking shoes, khaki shorts, sweaters, blankets, pots, pans, socks, raincoats, slacks, shirts.”

  Exactly one week later Mother stood in the hail amidst baskets, labeled boxes, golfbags, open and closed suitcases. Sh
e had a sheaf of dog-eared papers in her hand; Father’s list had grown to half a book.

  “There! I’ve lost track again!” she groaned, chewing the end of her pencil. “Dick’s suitcase—check. Gran’s basket all packed—check. John’s—oh, John,” she cried, “don’t forget your electric razor! Jooohn!”

  “Dad has gone to get the car,” Dick called from somewhere in the apartment, “and he has the razor in his pocket.”

  “Check,” mumbled Mother, but her pencil paused and she looked up. “Are you sure?” she cried, frowning a little.

  “Wait a sec, I’ll see.” There was a moment’s silence, then Dick emerged with the razor in one hand, his roller skates dangling from the other. “Dad SAID he would take it,” he grinned at Mother. “And, Mom, can I—may I bring my skates?”

  “Oh, Dick, what for?”

  Dick squirmed. “Well, we aren’t absolutely positive that we’ll buy the cottage and suppose we run out of gas—or something.”

  “Oh, all right, just put them with your things.” Mother sighed. “There, that mountain by the kitchen door is yours.” She sat down on a bulging suitcase and went on checking the items on her list. The kitchen door swung open and Gran pushed her way through, both arms around a huge cardboard box. Mother looked up and her eyes opened wide. “What in the world is that?”

  “Lunch,” said Gran, peering around the box to find a place to put it. “Lunch. All that for a four-hour trip?” Mother asked in a weak voice.

  “Never go away from home without enough victuals to see you through the day—there!” Gran puffed, having deposited her box on top of a stack of suitcases. “I learned that lesson from my father and it’s a good thing to remember. Five times enough for a day makes quite a lot of victuals. Where did you put my umbrella?”

  Mother cast an anguished glance at the list. “Wouldn’t a raincoat do, Gran ?” she asked hopefully.

  “A raincoat isn’t much good to keep my nose from freckling. Do ybu want me to look like a turkey egg? I want my umbrella AND my raincoat and rubbers. Where is John? I want him to roll up my mattress.”