Nancy Thayer

by Summer House (v5)

  Worth entered the room, breathless from running. “How is she?”

  Helen told him. “Six centimeters.”

  Charlotte rushed into the room, followed by Whit. “How is she?”

  The nurse looked up from the monitor. “Too many people in the room.”

  “Right,” Helen said. “Let’s go out in the hall.”

  Charlotte reared back with alarm when she heard Suzette shriek. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s in labor,” Helen told her daughter. “She’s in pain, but the answer to your question is yes, she’s all right.”

  They remained in a cluster by the door, all of them straining to hear, longing to help, feeling helpless. A doctor they didn’t know swept past them and into Suzette’s room.

  “He looks annoyed,” Worth said.

  “Probably had to leave a party,” Charlotte told her father. “It is Saturday night.”

  “Babies can be so inconvenient that way,” Helen said jokingly.

  Suzette’s scream peaked, then softened. After a few more minutes, Teddy came out into the hall. He’d undone his tie, and it hung limply against his shirt. His blond hair stuck out in odd places, as if he’d been pulling it. “They’re going to give her an epidural. They said it could still be hours yet before the baby comes.”

  “You’re kidding!” Charlotte cried.

  Helen put a steadying hand on Teddy’s arm. “Is there anything we can do? I know. We’ll go home and get you a change of clothing.”

  Teddy wore a lightweight navy blazer that had once belonged to his grandfather Herb. He grinned. “Oh, I don’t know, Mom, I kind of like the idea of dressing up for my child’s birth.”

  “Will you phone us the minute the baby’s born?” Helen asked.

  “Absolutely.” Teddy answered his mother but looked at his father when he said, “Thanks for helping us tonight.”

  Worth nodded brusquely, and then, surprising Helen and Teddy, too, he leaned forward and hugged his son. “Good luck in there.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Suzette screamed again and Teddy turned. “I’ll call.” He disappeared into the labor room.

  The others lingered for a moment, and then Whit said, “Well, I guess I’ll be going. Charlotte, let me know if you’ve got a niece or nephew, okay?”

  “Of course.” Charlotte went up on tiptoes to kiss Whit’s cheek. “Thanks for driving me.”

  Whit strode off down the hall. Helen, Worth, and Charlotte discussed who would drive which car; Charlotte’s rented Jeep was still parked at the yacht club. They decided that Helen would drive Charlotte back to the club, and Worth, who had ridden in with his daughter, would go home now with Helen. When they arrived back at the yacht club, Worth got out to hold the door open for Charlotte.

  “The party’s still going on,” he told Charlotte. “Go enjoy yourself.”

  Charlotte smoothed down her pink silk gown. “Really? That seems so heartless. I feel like I should be—oh, I don’t know, pacing the hospital floor and wringing my hands.”

  “That wouldn’t help Suzette,” Helen told her.

  Charlotte looked uncertain. “Well, okay. I’ve got my cell phone in my bag. Call me the minute you know anything.” She waved at her parents and went into the club.

  Helen and Worth were alone in the rented Saab. For a moment Helen was intensely uncomfortable, as the silence and the dark evening settled over them like a kind of tent, enclosing them from the rest of the world. She did not want to be in this close, intimate space with her husband. Sharp pinpricks of anxiety, excitement, and a strange and private exhilaration—Joe Abernathy!—stabbed her mind. Part of her still lingered at the hospital, in that room with Suzette, in labor with Suzette, for the young woman’s cries had summoned up a surprising sense of envy and desire. She wanted to lean back against the seat and close her senses against the present and remember her three deliveries. Suzette’s screams had made Helen viscerally recall her own labor pain. The intensity. The passion.

  “I can’t help but think of the night Oliver was born.”

  Worth’s voice made Helen jump. Giving herself a little shake, she steered the car out of the parking lot and onto the road.

  “I remember how hard you clutched my hand,” Worth said in a low musing tone. “I had bruises—”

  But Helen did not want to play that sweet game. “Does Cindy have children? Did she describe her birth experiences to you?”

  Worth went quiet. They rode through the dark streets, past the various shops and restaurants, and then they were at the rotary, leaving the commercial buildings behind.

  “Cindy doesn’t have children,” Worth said at last. “Helen, I’ll tell you anything you want to know about her, but I don’t particularly want to talk about her. I’ve told her it’s over between us, and I don’t want to think about her anymore. I want to think about you, us, our family. I’ll do whatever it takes to convince you that I’m sorry. I want our marriage. I need our marriage.”

  Helen listened to him, and his words did give her heart ease.

  “Say something,” Worth urged.

  She almost snorted. All their lives, she had been the one coaxing Worth to talk, she had been the one babbling out her innermost thoughts. “Worth, it helps to hear you say you need our marriage. I’m glad. But you know what? I think I’m overwhelmed. My fuses are all blown. I’m so excited and concerned about Suzette and her baby, I’m not sure I can think clearly about anything else.”

  His voice was terse, as if he’d been rebuffed. “You were the one who brought Cindy up.”

  She didn’t reply. They drove the rest of the way in silence.

  At home, Helen changed out of her satin skirt and silk top and into practical clothes, white capris and a loose lightweight navy cotton sweater, so that she would be dressed and ready to rush to the hospital the moment the call came. She lay down on the bed, telling herself she knew she wouldn’t sleep but would rest, should rest, and the next thing she knew, the sun was spilling through the windows. She sprang up, alarmed. It was so late! Surely Suzette had had the baby by now. Why had no one told her?

  A look at the clock calmed her down. It was only five-thirty. Stepping quietly, she made her way through the upstairs and down to the kitchen. She was the only one awake. She couldn’t believe she’d slept through the night. She thought of Suzette, still in labor. She thought of Worth. She thought of Joe Abernathy his warm, thick, muscular body against hers.

  “Well, you look like the cat who ate the cream.” Charlotte came in from the mudroom. “Any news?”

  “The phone hasn’t rung. Or at least I didn’t hear it. Do you suppose I should call?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose. Are you making coffee? I’d love some.” Charlotte fixed herself a bowl of cereal, sank onto a chair, and with the lithe grace of the young and slender, pulled up her legs and crossed them Indian style. She looked like a child. “I don’t suppose you’d man the farm stand for me this morning? Suzette’s been doing it, and it’s August, and I’m swamped.”

  “Of course,” Helen told her daughter. “It will help me pass the time.”

  The call came at eleven-thirty Helen was enjoying herself at the stand, exchanging friendly banter with the customers, some of whom she knew, when the Chrysler suddenly came down the dirt driveway, Worth at the wheel. He was beaming. “It’s a girl. Six pounds. All her toes and fingers.”

  Helen jumped up so fast she nearly knocked over the table. “Oh! Oh! Oh, Worth, a little girl!”

  “Come on, get in,” Worth said.

  Charlotte drove up behind Worth in her rented Jeep. “Go on, Mom,” she called. “I’m going to close the stand.” She held up a hastily contrived sign:

  BEACH GRASS GARDEN CLOSED TODAY AS WE WELCOME BRAND NEW BABY GIRL WHEELWRIGHT!

  Helen jumped into the convertible with Worth, grateful that the top was down. Conversation was always hard with the wind rushing over her head. Never had the road seemed so winding and long, never had they had to slow so often for da
wdling vehicles, never had her heart beat with such impatience. A granddaughter!

  Finally they peeled into the hospital parking lot. Helen was out the door before Worth had taken his keys from the ignition. His long strides made up for her quickened steps, so they entered the hospital together and raced up the stairs.

  “Wait for me!” Charlotte called, only a few feet behind.

  “Hurry!” Helen called back to her daughter. She felt absolutely childish with glee and anticipation.

  They burst into the maternity ward and were directed to the same room Suzette had gone into the night before. The door was closed.

  “Quiet,” Helen cautioned. “They might all be sleeping.” She grasped Worth’s hand hard; it was like clutching the bar on a Ferris wheel or roller coaster.

  They went through the door. Suzette half lay half sat on the bed, her multicolored hair limp against her skull. She looked up at them, her blue eyes shining. Teddy sat on the side of the bed, gazing down at the bundle in Suzette’s arms.

  “Hey,” he said to his parents. “Come meet Dawn. We named her Dawn. She was born right at dawn.” He slipped off the bed so his parents and sister could get close to his wife and new daughter.

  Helen eased her hand from Worth’s. She moved close to the bed and peeked down, then said to Suzette. “May I hold her?”

  “Sure.” Suzette lifted her baby up.

  Dawn was coddled in white blankets, which Helen pulled away slightly, so she could see more of the infant, the little arms, the wrinkled neck. “Oh, she’s beautiful.”

  Charlotte squeezed up. “Let me see her.”

  Worth stood behind them, pressing to see. After a moment, he said, “She has black hair.” Looking into his son’s blue eyes, he added, “She has black eyes.”

  “Like blackberries,” Helen cooed. “Worth, remember, babies’ eyes are generally dark blue at birth. And their hair can fall out and another color come in.”

  But Worth turned without another word and left the room.

  Twenty-three

  It was Grace who broke the news to Nona. Of course, Nona thought, it would be.

  Nona was in her wicker chair in the garden, toying with the lunch Glorious had brought her on a tray. A disgustingly healthy lunch, basically a salad with some chicken breast cut up in bits. And a piece of seven-grain bread, nicely buttered. Glorious took great responsibility for the state of Nona’s bowels. Nona was grateful, but she would have preferred a club sandwich.

  “Nona!” Grace actually tripped on the threshold as she rushed from the house out onto the patio. “Suzette had her baby!”

  Nona’s old heart leaped. “Tell me everything!”

  “It’s a little girl. Only six pounds, but all her bits and bobs intact.”

  Nona clapped her hands together. “How lovely!”

  “Maybe not,” Grace said, trying to sound solemn but unable to disguise the satisfaction in her voice. “She has black hair and olive skin. Suzette and Teddy both have blue eyes and blond hair—well, Suzette would, if she ever let the natural color grow back.”

  Nona let the information float in the air between them. “How is Suzette?”

  “Oh, I think she’s fine. It was Helen who phoned, and she said Suzette’s kind of bleary from the experience, but she’s okay. Well, she should be, she’s so young. And I’m not so sure that baby was a month early, not when she has eyelashes and fingernails and all. Nona, I don’t want you to be upset, but I’m not so very sure this is your—um, great-grandchild, your blood relative. From what I’ve heard, she doesn’t look a thing like anyone in our family.”

  “Oh, Grace,” Nona said. She meant it as a rebuke, but Grace took it as disappointment.

  “I know, I know, it’s unfortunate. But apparently Teddy isn’t upset. Maybe he’s just being nice to Suzette. Anyway, Charlotte’s taking photos with her digital camera, and she’ll be here any moment to show them to us.”

  “Mom!” Mellie waddled out onto the patio. “You promised you’d take me shopping! There’s a trunk show at the jeweler’s.”

  “Suzette had her baby,” Grace gushed. “A little girl. With black hair and olive skin!”

  “Oooh,” Mellie cooed. “A little girl. How’s Suzette?”

  “She’s fine,” Grace snapped impatiently, disappointed by her daughter’s response.

  “After we go to the jeweler’s, we can buy some cute little pink things for the baby,” Mellie said. “And some flowers! Come on, Mom, I don’t want to be late.”

  Nona’s daughter and granddaughter scurried away. Nona let her head fall back against her chair. Suddenly she was exhausted. If she had the energy to call Glorious, she’d ask her to help her back to bed. But she was too tired even to call out.

  Perhaps she dozed. She heard Grace’s car roar off, and then silence.

  It seemed only a moment later that she heard the Chrysler’s familiar purr. She looked around. The shadows had shifted on the patio, so she had slept, time had passed.

  She heard the slam of car doors and the crunch of gravel. Then she heard Worth and Helen, and they were arguing.

  She played possum, shutting her eyes again and letting her head fall sideways.

  They came through the hedge. Worth sounded furious. “That baby is not my grandchild.”

  “Lower your voice. Nona’s sleeping.” Helen spoke softly, but her voice shook with rage.

  “Helen, how can you disagree with me about this? Any moron could see that child is not Teddy’s.”

  “No!” Helen’s voice cut like a whip. “Any moron could see the love on Teddy’s face when he looks at that little girl!”

  “Why are you so eager to claim a child who has no blood relation to you?” Worth demanded. “Charlotte will get married someday. She’ll give you grandchildren. Hell, Suzette might even have a baby with Teddy!”

  “Don’t be disgusting. Teddy loves Suzette. Clearly he loves the little girl. So what if she’s not his genetically. He’ll adopt her.”

  “That doesn’t mean I have to call her my grandchild.” Worth was almost snarling.

  They didn’t speak as they walked past Nona and stepped over the threshold and into the living room.

  Just inside the French doors, Helen said, “Worth. You’ve said you want us to stay together.”

  “Of course I do!”

  “If that’s what you want, what you really want, I’m telling you this in no uncertain terms: You can have it, if you will stop being such a total jackass and accept this baby, this baby Teddy loves, into our family.”

  Worth’s voice turned bitter. “You’re blackmailing me, Helen. Even if I say whatever you want me to say, I can’t change the way I feel.”

  “Oh, yes, you can. You want me to change the way I feel about certain matters, don’t you? You’d like me to live out the rest of my life as if certain thoughts and sorrows and imaginings didn’t press on my heart like stones. You’d like me to love you again, right? Really love you?”

  Worth grumbled, “The two—sins—are not equal.”

  “Worth,” Helen said, and her voice was adamant, “I will divorce you.”

  Nona’s heart jumped. She held her breath and strained to hear.

  “For God’s sake, Helen.”

  Helen remained calm but unyielding. “I mean it. I will divorce you.”

  There was silence. When Worth spoke again, his voice was conciliatory. “Let me put it this way, Helen. You want a grandchild. I want an heir.”

  “That little girl could be your heir.”

  “No.”

  “Then we’re at an impasse.”

  Helen, then Worth, stormed through the living room, into the hall, and up the stairs.

  I must tell them now, Nona thought. I only hope I’m not too late.

  January 1946

  “Ilke? Wer ist es?” Even with the German words, the man’s voice was familiar.

  Anne remained frozen on the threshold of the house. Perhaps it was the wrong house, she thought. Perhaps it was the r
ight house and this woman lived with her husband and Herb had been given a room here. Perhaps—

  The German woman stepped back into the shadows just as Herb strode down the hall to the open door. He wore his khaki uniform, with his tie tucked inside his shirt between the third and fourth button. His hair was shorter than she’d ever seen it, parted on the left, combed into blond furrows. When he saw Anne, he slammed to a halt, lurching backward, as if he’d run into a pane of glass. His jaw dropped.

  “Anne?” His expression showed surprise and then, quickly, not joy, not delight, but consternation. “Anne, is that really you?”

  She took one step forward, reaching out her hand to touch him. “It’s really me, Herb. I came on a Stangarone freighter.”

  “My God.” Herb lifted his arms to receive her as she pressed herself against him, but he did not bend to kiss her lips. “My God, Anne.”

  When he did not kiss her, her fears were confirmed. Still, she tried to sound normal—what was normal now?—as she moved back from her husband and, with a bright smile, asked, “And who is your beautiful friend?”

  “Anne.” Herb stumbled over his words for a moment, and then gathered himself. “Anne, this is Ilke Hartman. The army requisitioned a spot in her home for me. She—she has been very good to me over this past year.”

  Well, Anne thought, that was ambiguous. She forced herself to smile at Ilke. “It’s nice to meet you, Ilke.” Rats, she thought, I sound like Herb’s mother, all prissy and polite. But how did you talk to a German, anyway?

  Ilke did not return Anne’s smile. Instead, she spoke to Herb in German, her words rushing together in a stream of guttural explosions. Herb replied in German. Ilke turned, then, and slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  Herb reached forward to shut the front door of the house. Then he put his hand on Anne’s arm. “Come into the kitchen, Anne. Are you hungry? Thirsty? How did you get here; I mean, how did you find the house? You must be very tired.”