“You can really go anywhere now,” Jackie said. “It must be nice to be so secure.”
“But I’m not secure,” Charles told him. “Don’t you see, with Father nothing is secure?” But Jackie shook his head.
“That isn’t so, Charley,” he answered. “Really it isn’t. I used to think you were hurting your position when you left Wright-Sherwin, but you knew what you were doing.”
“I wonder if anyone really knows why he does anything,” Charles said.
“Now, Charley,” Jackie said, “we know each other well enough to be frank. I know you don’t tell me everything, you don’t have to.” It was true. You never had to tell much in Clyde. “You can get anywhere you want.” Jackie Mason sighed. “You’ll be a director of the bank someday, and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be a trustee of the public library.” Jackie was always loyal. He was loyal to the end. “It doesn’t even make any difference if Dorothea marries Elbridge Steme, and furthermore, don’t you see, Charley—” and Jackie stopped as though he were going to say something indiscreet.
“Go ahead,” Charles told him. “What don’t I see?”
“Don’t you see that Mr. Lovell can’t do anything about it, in spite of his position?”
Jackie had lowered his voice when he mentioned Mr. Lovell’s name. They had been standing in the dusk talking in the Masons’ yard as they had ever since they were children, and Jackie looked half-apprehensively toward Johnson Street. It was as close as he ever came to mentioning what everybody knew, that Mr. Lovell could do nothing but accept what lay between Charles and Jessica. Mr. Lovell could do nothing about the accomplished fact. Mr. Lovell himself was a part of Clyde.
If there were anything in the theory that the past remained intact, he and Jessica Lovell must still have been somewhere, with the other ghosts of Clyde. Perhaps all of that summer might have returned to him again and again if he had stayed in Clyde. If he had never seen Jessica Lovell again except in the distance, he would have seen the shadows of Jessica and himself around every corner and on every country road. If he had walked down Dock Street, he and Jessica might still have been standing in front of the window of Stowell’s furniture store, talking of living room curtains. She had wanted green monk’s cloth curtains. Down at the foot of Gow Street, they might still have been gazing at the FOR SALE sign on the Pritchard house, for old Miss Pritchard had died that summer. It was in bad condition, but they could have fixed it up if they had bought it. If he had gone to the beach in the moonlight, he and Jessica would have been there with their picnic supper. Their two shadows would have been everywhere, because they had been everywhere in Clyde together. By God, it was a wonderful town.
They would have been talking still about the things they were going to do. There would have been the same surprise that they liked so many of the same things. They had been so very, very practical. Jessica was going to learn how to keep a budget and he was going to learn how to work in the garden. They were going to read together in the evening. They both loved to read aloud. At last it was possible to talk of all those practical things. She could buy him neckties now and she could go with him to Boston in the morning, if she wanted, and of course they were going to have a car, a Ford or a Dodge, perhaps—but they only looked at cars in Boston, because their engagement was not announced.
He could buy her a gold bracelet now and a moonstone pin, but not a ring because their engagement was not announced. They could not very well look at rings in Marston’s Jewelry Shop but they could look at them in Boston and if anyone who knew them should happen to see them it would not matter much because they were engaged, although it was not announced. They could even go to Jessica’s aunt’s summer place at Cohasset for the night, because the family knew they were engaged. There were all sorts of things that they could do and say that summer. It was strange how few of them he could remember. It must have been because he had pushed them so relentlessly aside. That summer was now covered up by so much that was more actual—that summer and all of Clyde.
The summer and those shadows of himself and Jessica, and Clyde too, were like the Atlantis upon which his father had discoursed that night when Jessica came to supper. Elbridge Sterne had not known about Atlantis, but that was natural. Elbridge was an excellent metallurgical chemist, so excellent that a few months later a larger company from Kansas City had sent for him. He was too good for Wright-Sherwin and anyway it was a chance to get back home. Elbridge did not care about lands beneath the sea or sunken shoals that jutted above the water when the tide was very low.
Dorothea and Elbridge Sterne were married in the Unitarian Church that June. May Mason, who had married Jeffrey Meader and who already had two children, was matron of honor, though she said she was too old—still, she was not as old as Dorothea—and Elbridge had asked Charles to be best man, instead of his brother, who came on with Elbridge’s mother from Kansas City. Dorothea had wanted Jessica to be a bridesmaid but they had not asked her in the end—because it had not been announced.
Nevertheless, the Lovells did come to the church, probably because Mr. Lovell had thought it would be more conspicuous had he stayed away. All that made the Lovells conspicuous was that they were placed up in front, just behind the Marchbys, and everybody saw them during their long walk up the aisle. If Charles had known of this arrangement he might have been able to stop it, but he only knew when he walked out with Elbridge from the minister’s room under the pulpit stairs.
It was a very large wedding and John Gray wanted everyone to be in silk hats and cutaways and he would have been very glad to have paid for the clothes himself. He was hurt when Dorothea did not want this. He only had one daughter, he said, and he wanted it to be a good wedding, but instead the ushers wore blue coats and white flannels and the bridesmaids were dressed in pastel organdy.
“The bride,” the Clyde Herald said, “wearing her mother’s wedding veil, a family heirloom, was exquisitely gowned in a white satin dress from Bendel’s, the well-known New York dress house … the flower girls were the Misses Edwina and Malvina Meader, daughters of Mrs. Meader, the matron of honor … the gifts to the bridesmaids were exquisite gold compact boxes and to each of the ushers was given a gold cigarette case … the music for the reception was furnished by the fife-and-drum corps of the Pine Tree Veteran Fire Company … refreshments and a buffet luncheon for the numerous guests at the Gray residence on Spruce Street were supplied by the J. E. Crowell Catering Company from Boston … the bride and groom left for the wedding trip in a Duesenberg convertible automobile—a gift of the bride’s father.”
His father had not succeeded with the cutaways but at least he had insisted on buying the compacts and cigarette cases and he had persuaded Dorothea to accept a foreign car instead of a check because he had always wanted a Duesenberg himself.
His future in the Duesenberg convertible disturbed Elbridge more than the crowd in the church as he waited with Charles beneath the pulpit stairs. Charles had always thought of Elbridge as being literal and phlegmatic, but instead he was perspiring freely.
“I don’t know why we have to drive that thing,” he said, “after all the rest of this.”
It gave Charles a fraternal feeling when Elbridge spoke about “that thing.” They were both creatures of circumstance, being moved without their own volition, there beneath the pulpit stairs. “Charley, it doesn’t tie in with anything else.”
“That’s right,” Charles said. “It doesn’t really.”
“Do you remember”—Elbridge mopped his forehead—“when I used to come to Spruce Street and Dorothea and I dried the dishes after supper?” Elbridge mopped his forehead again.
“I know, Elbridge,” Charles said. “I know.”
“We’re like a lot of kids playing,” Elbridge said, and he put his hand on Charles’s arm. “It doesn’t make sense.” Charles often wondered what they would have done if Elbridge had not married Dorothea.
The reception was so large that there were tables in both their own an
d the Masons’ yards. The fife-and-drum corps made too much noise and all the people he had known all his life seemed like actors in a play, crowded simultaneously onto the stage and half forgetting their parts. The Meaders, the Masons, the technicians from Wright-Sherwin, Mr. and Mrs. Howell, the Thomases, the Stanleys, the Lovells, the Sullivans, the Levines and the Walterses were there and so was everyone else. John Gray had insisted on inviting everyone and everyone had come, and no doubt they must still be asking each other if they remembered Johnny Gray before the crash and that wedding of Dorothea’s; and Charley Gray and Jessica Lovell standing on the lawn and city waiters pouring champagne right where everyone could see from Spruce Street. When he had it he could spend it. It made Clyde look like a seafaring town again. That was quite a party, they must still be saying, quite a party, and did they remember the speech that Johnny Gray gave? It was too bad, they must be saying, too bad about the Grays, too bad about Charley and Jessica, but then he was a banker now, holding an important position in New York. It was too bad, they must still be saying, that the Grays had moved away. Easy come and easy go. Charley Gray was a nice boy, and Esther Gray was a Marchby and the Marchbys were good people. It was too bad that the Grays were gone.
Of course, Charles had the Lovells on his mind and it would have looked peculiar if he had not seen that Miss Lovell was comfortable and that Mr. Lovell had ginger ale when he refused champagne, but he had to be at the bride’s table, too, and he could not be in two places at once and it annoyed him when Jackie Mason said, “Charley, I think you ought to be seen with the Lovells.” He was going to be seen with the Lovells, but they could not have been at the bride’s table. The fife-and-drum corps was playing “Put on Your Old Gray Bonnet” because they were running out of tunes. Miss Lovell was in rust-colored silk, with a parasol. Jessica was in green organdy. She always loved green, and she was wearing his moonstone pin.
“Well, Charles,” Mr. Lovell said, “this is quite a day for all of you, isn’t it, and quite a day for Clyde. This is really a most original wedding party.”
It was unnecessary for him to have been quite so amused and tolerant—it was a time to be loyal to the family.
“I hope you’re enjoying it, sir,” Charles said.
“Of course, I’m enjoying it.” Mr. Lovell smiled. “Especially the fife-and-drum corps.”
“You know how father is about the Pine Trees,” Charles said.
“Yes, indeed, I know,” Mr. Lovell answered.
A minute later Charles was standing alone with Jessica and they were each holding a glass of champagne. At least it seemed to him that they were alone, in spite of the crowd on the lawn.
“You’re not angry with Father, are you?” she was asking. “He’s never nice in crowds.”
“Angry?” and he laughed at her. “I’m glad you wore the pin.”
“It’s a lovely party. Dorothea looks so sweet and your mother is so darling. I love your father. He’s so happy. He’s so young.”
“Look at poor Elbridge,” Charles said. “I wish it weren’t so noisy.”
“He’s wanted to marry her for a long time, hasn’t he?”
“It took them a long while to make up their minds,” Charles said.
Jessica smiled at him over the rim of her glass.
“I’m awfully glad we’ve made up ours. Where’s Father?”
“Over there, talking to Mrs. Thomas.”
“He always tries to talk to everybody. He’s really awfully sweet. Charley, I really think he’s getting used to it.”
“To you and me?”
“I keep saying ‘It,’ don’t I? You and me, everything.”
The fife-and-drum corps had started again. The corps was not used to champagne and the drums were off beat.
“Charley,” she asked, “does all this make you think of something?”
“What?” he asked.
“Why, the firemen’s muster.… Charley, what’ll we do tonight? Let’s go somewhere and be alone.”
It was wonderful to think that such a thing was possible.
The reception was growing more and more like a firemen’s muster. The Pine Trees and the hand tub, with its brasswork shining in the sun, had suddenly appeared on Spruce Street. It was a surprise thought up by the Pine Trees and the Pine Trees were going to follow the bride and groom when they went away. Earl Wilkins and some of the boys had thought it up all of a sudden, perhaps because John Gray had sent six cases of champagne down to the firehouse. He would never forget Elbridge Sterne’s stricken look. It was something that could only have happened in Clyde.
Later on other bright June days when the weather was cool, Charles would think of himself and Jessica standing there in the crowded Spruce Street yard, alone and not alone, and he could always recall those obvious words they both had said. Somehow everything they meant to each other, their beginning and their ending, was explained in that brief conversation. It was one of the glittering fragments of the summer and it was indestructible. The truth, of course, was that she had never grown used to it any more than Mr. Lovell. There was no reason why she should have, because she could not love them both at once, but she did not know this then and neither did he.
It was strange in the light of the present to recall that a period existed in his life’s span when the only clouds on the horizon were the roseate prophecies of an even more roseate future. You could call it a fool’s paradise or a debauch or all the other hard words the economic experts and the planners called that summer later, but Charles was never sure that most of them at the time had not been fooled by it even though all the sinister symptoms which everyone recognized later were already apparent. The low-pressure areas and the storms were already assembling behind the pellucid sky. There were inequities and there were greed and social blindness. It was a hectic, materialistic, egocentric world, along the lines of boom and bust, but it sometimes seemed to him, though he seldom said it, that no prophet had succeeded in making a securer society—not Mr. Roosevelt or his Brain Trust, or Hitler or Mussolini, or Hirohito in Japan, or Stalin, or even Mr. Attlee. This was a reactionary thought but his profession was investment which in the purest sense was only an endeavor to cut the cloth according to the situations which radicals and liberals created.
There were no wars or rumors of war that summer. Instead there was a sense of peace and almost of good will. There were no threatening, saber-rattling ogres and few confusions of thought. It was ironical to remember that the cost of government and general taxation were considered too high, and of course there were the gang wars and prohibition, but it was quite a world that summer. There was going to be enough for everyone, a standard of living that would grow always higher, a general advance in science and culture. The country was only dimly becoming aware of its resources and potentialities. Business and enlightened competition would take care of any contingency. It was a great place, the United States, and a great world, that summer.
You could not help but catch some of that contagion. There was freedom from want and freedom from fear for a little while that summer. He and Jessica were going to get married and live happily ever after, and perhaps even Mr. Lovell began to believe this.
It honestly did seem to Charles that Mr. Lovell was really trying to get used to him, but Jessica and Miss Georgianna were trying so hard to get them used to each other that they may have tried too hard. Miss Georgianna was always asking Laurence if he would mind entertaining Charles for a few minutes while she and Jessica went upstairs to look for something; and Jessica, if she and Charles were going out somewhere, was always saying that it would take her a few minutes to get ready but that Father would love to see him.
“Darling,” Jessica said once, “what were you and Father talking about when I was upstairs?”
They had just been talking, he told her, and Mr. Lovell had said it was too bad—it was a great pity—that he had not gone to Harvard.
“He didn’t mean it the way you think,” Jessica said. “You mustn’t be hurt a
bout it.”
“Why should it hurt me?” Charles asked. “It’s a common point of view in certain groups. Mr. Rush said the same thing to me yesterday.”
“What did you say to Father when he said it?”
“There wasn’t much to say,” Charles answered. “I just said that there are a lot of schools besides Harvard.”
“You didn’t call it a school, did you?”
“I don’t remember,” Charles said. “I think I called it a school.”
“Darling”—she sounded bright and determined—“Father wouldn’t have said that if he weren’t interested in you. He really is. He’s beginning to quote some of the things you say.”
“I suppose he is,” Charles said, “and I’m interested in him. I guess we both have to be.”
“What did you talk about after that?” Jessica asked.
“About painting the house,” Charles told her. “He had some estimates.”
“Why, darling,” Jessica said, “why didn’t you tell me that first? If he told you how much it’s going to cost it means you’re almost in the family.” She shook her head and pushed her hair back from her forehead. “It’s awfully funny …”
“What’s so funny?” Charles asked.
“If it weren’t for me,” Jessica said, “if it weren’t for Clyde, why you’re just the person he would like. He’s always talking about people who make their own way, and he’d be doing nice things for you and giving you advice and he’d be just the way he was with Malcolm Bryant and you’d be having a good time together.”
“I wish you wouldn’t worry about us,” Charles said. “We’re getting along all right. I understand the way he feels. Honestly, I don’t blame him. He just feels disappointed.”
“Darling,” Jessica said, “how many times must I tell you that he’s getting over it. Every day, every minute, he’s getting over it. His point of view hasn’t got anything to do with you. You’re just a general subject. Charley, he’s trying so hard and you’ve got to try. I can’t bear it, I simply can’t, if you don’t like each other.”
Point of No Return Page 47