Earth and High Heaven

by Gwethalyn Graham

  “How long have you got, Marc?”

  “We’re due in Halifax on the twenty-fourth.”

  “What day is the twenty-fourth?”

  “Thursday. The Halifax train doesn’t leave till seven-thirty at night so I’ll have most of Wednesday in Montreal. I can report any time up till midnight.”

  “When are you going to Algoma?”

  “If I leave on Friday I’ll be there Saturday night, and that will give me three days at home. Can you be at the hotel on Monday night, Eric?”

  “Yes, don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

  “That means we’ll have three days together too — a bit more as a matter of fact, and then I’ll be seeing you again on Wednesday on my way through.” He paused and then asked, “What is the Post going to say, Eric? Do you think they’ll mind?”

  She had no idea what the Post would say and did not care whether they minded or not, but before she could answer, her mother called her from downstairs.

  “Just a minute, Mother, I’m telephoning.”

  “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  “Are you still there?” asked Marc.

  “Yes, darling.”

  “There won’t be any hitches, will there, Eric?” he asked anxiously.

  “No, darling. I told you, you’re not to worry.” Monday, September 14th was ten days and two weekends off, and she asked, “Isn’t there any chance of — of anything — in the meantime, Marc?”

  “It doesn’t look like it.”

  There was another flat silence. He said finally, “Well, I guess that’s about all, Eric.”

  “I guess so,” said Erica, after making sure of her voice. She did not want to start crying again.

  “Somebody else wants the phone, darling. I’d better hang up.”

  Erica went downstairs, took her cup of coffee from the tray and carried it over to the window seat. Her mother and father were sitting at either end of the sofa facing the empty fireplace, with Miriam curled up in a nearby chair. He father was reading the evening paper.

  One of them asked, “What’s the matter, Eric?”

  “Nothing,” said Erica.

  There was a blue haze over the city and the lights were already lit in some of the buildings. Off to the right, just above where the Adirondacks ought to be, Erica thought, a new moon was rising and one star was faintly visible. Sometimes you could see the Adirondacks when the atmosphere was very clear.

  Miriam came over and sat down beside her. She had been looking a little better since Captain Henderson had reported that John had turned up at Headquarters, somewhat the worse for wear, on Tuesday morning. He told Miriam that there was nothing to be alarmed about; John’s record was too good for anything very drastic to happen to him just because he had gone “temporarily nuts.” As a matter of fact, his c.o. had covered up for him by simply giving him three days’ leave, beginning the previous Saturday. “That’s the reason we were raising heaven and earth to find him before it was too late and the c.o. would have to think up something else.”

  Miriam glanced at the new moon and the first star and said, “I’m going to wish on them both.”

  “Have you heard from John yet?”

  Miriam shook her head. “That’s what I’m wishing about.”

  “You’ll get your wish, darling. He’s sure to call you sooner or later.”

  “Is he?” asked Miriam. “Why?”

  Erica did not know why she was so sure that he would call her. She said at last, “I guess just because he’s John.”

  “Was that Marc?” asked Miriam after a pause.

  “Yes.”

  She waited for Erica to say something else, but nothing came. Her sister was looking out the window and Miriam said, “Why don’t you wish on it too?”

  “I can’t think of anything I want.”

  “Erica,” said her mother from the sofa.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Your father thinks he may be able to get away for a holiday after all, though probably only for about ten days starting next Saturday — I think it’s the 19th. If we go up to the cabin is there any chance of your being able to come with us?”

  Why that week for their long overdue holiday? Why that week of all weeks, unless there had been a special fate appointed to make certain that everything which affected Marc and her should always go wrong?

  She said, “I’m sorry, Mother. I can’t manage it then.”

  “When are you going to take your holidays?” asked her father.

  “It’s not that.” She waited a moment, gripping the edge of the window seat with both hands, and then said, “I’m going to the Laurentians for a few days week after next ...”

  “Why?”

  “Marc’s going to be on embarkation leave. He starts on Monday but he has to go to Algoma on Friday to spend the last three days with his family.”

  There was the usual silence, only this time it was more complete, if possible, and lasted longer. Finally her father remarked, “Evidently your friend’s family matters slightly more to him than yours does to you.”

  Miriam glanced at Erica quickly and then said rather acidly, “It’s not quite the same thing, is it, Charles?”

  “This is the only holiday your father is going to have this year, Miriam,” said her mother.

  “It’s the only embarkation leave Marc is going to have too,” said Miriam.

  “I think you’d better mind your own business, Miriam,” said her father.

  “Erica’s business is my business.” She glanced at Erica again and then said with sudden fury, “You leave her alone for once! All she’s got left is three days, you’ve seen to that. She’s not going to marry Marc Reiser, she’s not going to have the rest of her life with him ...”

  “Mimi,” said Erica.

  Her father had said something angrily which Miriam had not heard, but at the sound of Erica’s voice she stopped and said, “Yes, darling ...”

  “I don’t want to have a row.”

  “It seems to be Miriam who’s having it,” said her mother. She turned to Miriam, too worn and discouraged even to raise her voice, and said, “Naturally your father and I don’t expect Erica to alter any of her plans on our account. We’ve given up expecting that. So far as Erica is concerned, this isn’t her home any longer ...”

  “Meeting Marc on streetcorners wasn’t Erica’s idea, Mother.”

  “So long as your mother and I are living here, Miriam, I think we’re entitled to say who comes into our home and who doesn’t. And I don’t think either of us is particularly interested in your opinions on the subject.”

  “No,” said Miriam more reasonably, “I guess there’s no reason why you should be.”

  Erica was still motionless beside her, with her shoulders down, and her eyes fixed on some point out in the middle of the light broadloom rug which ran the full length of the room. With her long fair hair and slender figure, she looked like a child waiting in a railway station for someone to come and take her away.

  Miriam gritted her teeth, her eyes following the bookcases down the opposite wall, around the corner to the Arlésienne over the fireplace and then finally back to her father and mother at either end of the sofa. Evidently neither of them had anything further to say, and at last she asked, “Couldn’t you go without her?”

  “We could, but we wouldn’t get much fun out of it if we did,” said her mother.

  “You overestimate us,” said Charles.

  “What?” He did not answer and she said, “I’m sorry, Charles, but what has overestimating you got to do with it?”

  “Well, you can hardly expect your mother and me to go off on a holiday while Erica is having a holiday of her own with ...”

  Miriam thought, if he uses that word “friend” just once more I’m going to lose my temper again. But he said, “... with Mr. Reiser,” after another pause, and added, “We’re not quite that detached, though doubtless we should be by this time.”
<
br />   “I see,” said Miriam.

  “We should take a few lessons in detachment from Erica. She seems to manage a great deal better than we do.”

  “Oh, leave her alone, Charles! You’ve got everything you wanted, except for three days week after next. Why don’t you take your winnings — they’re big enough! — and be sporting enough to call quits?”

  “I don’t want to have a row, Mimi,” said Erica for the second time.

  “As Mother has already pointed out, it’s not your row, it’s mine.”

  She got up suddenly, leaving Erica by herself on the window seat, crossed the room, and standing in front of her mother and father with her back to the fireplace, as though she wished to indicate that the row was to be confined to the area immediately around the sofa and did not include Erica, she said, “You brought us up to stick together — you always said to Tony and Eric and me that we should stand up for each other. I’ve listened to you going after Erica, Charles, and I’ve kept out of it because she wanted me to ...” Miriam paused and then added deliberately, “I assure you that it was only because she wanted me to, and not because I agreed with you, but it’s gone too far altogether and I can’t keep out of it any longer.”

  She began, “I told Erica at the very beginning ...” and then broke off, her eyes following Erica as her sister got up from the window seat and ran out of the room. She stared at the empty door through which Erica had disappeared, listening to her footsteps on the stairs, and then turning to her father she said, “I told her at the beginning that she was going to have to choose between you and Marc because you would make it impossible for her to do anything else. She wouldn’t believe me. She said that sooner or later you’d come round; if only she were quiet and didn’t say anything so there wouldn’t be any rows, then she was sure you’d come round. She was wrong about that, but I was wrong too — I didn’t realize how much you mattered to Marc. There was no choice; so far as Marc was concerned it was either both of you, or he was out of the picture.”

  “Evidently he has a few more scruples than we gave him credit for,” said her father.

  “He has a lot more of what it takes to make a first-rate human being than you’ve ever given him credit for, I know that!”

  Her father shifted his position on the sofa, and with his steady dark eyes fixed on her face and his expression still unchanged, he said, “What you mean is that there was never any choice so far as Erica was concerned either — she had chosen Mr. Reiser at the very start of this infatuation of hers, and her mother and I could simply take it or leave it, that was all. The way we felt about it was of course completely unimportant.”

  Miriam surveyed him in silence for a moment, and said finally, “Listen to me, Charles. Erica is in love with Marc. She’s not infatuated with him, she loves him. Her whole life is going to be different because of what you’ve done. But it can’t be undone now, and I’m not going to argue about it. I’m only trying to warn you.”

  “Warn us?” repeated her mother, staring at her.

  “In less than three weeks you’re going to be rid of Marc Reiser for good. That’s enough, isn’t it?” she asked both of them. “Surely you don’t want to be rid of Erica too ...”

  “Miriam!” Gasped her mother.

  “I know the way you feel about things,” said Miriam, looking down at the floor, “but you can’t stop Eric from going away with Marc week after next. If you try, she’ll go anyhow, but she won’t come back again.” She raised her eyes, looking from one to the other, and said desperately, “Don’t you see, if you try to stop her, you’ll put her in a position where she has to choose between you and Marc. She can’t come back again, after you’ve told her not to go, and particularly after the kind of row you’ll have if you do. She’s just about at the end of her rope and she knows it. That’s the reason she keeps saying ‘I don’t want any rows, I don’t want any rows.’ You simply must not make an issue of it.”

  “Do you realize what you’re suggesting?” asked her father when at last he had found his voice.

  “It’s a question of what matters most to you, Charles.” She could not bring herself even to glance at her mother, and with her eyes back at the floor in front of her, she said, “I’m sorry for you, but I’m not half as sorry for you as I am for Erica.”

  “That’s quite obvious.” She heard him draw in his breath, and then he said, his voice shaking. “I suppose you’d go with her.”

  “You suppose wrong.”

  “Why?”

  “Never mind me. There’s no reason I can think of why a daughter should have to explain to her mother and father why she is not going to walk out on them, anyhow. It’s a silly question,” she said dispassionately, “and you know the answer as well as I do.”

  She said, her face strained, “Maybe I shouldn’t have let you go on, maybe I shouldn’t have kept out of it, I don’t know. I’ve never got on with you as well as she has, and I haven’t been awfully successful in running my own life. I don’t suppose you would have paid any attention to what I thought. I’ve made the damnedest mistakes about people,” she added as though she were talking to herself, “so I couldn’t really expect you to be very interested in my opinion of Marc Reiser.”

  “Do you know him, Miriam?” asked her mother, looking straight ahead at the empty fireplace.

  “Yes, of course I know him.”

  “So you were encouraging her behind our backs,” said her father.

  She said immediately, “If you choose to turn your back, Charles, you can hardly complain about what goes on behind it!”

  “Miriam ...” said her mother.

  “Yes, darling?”

  “I am interested in your opinion of Marc Reiser.” All the life seemed to have gone from her face, and her husband might just as well not have been in the room. Still looking straight ahead of her, she said, “I want to know what he’s like, Miriam.”

  She knew that at last her mother was in a mood to listen and to believe what she was told, and Miriam said quietly, “He’s the opposite of everything you thought. If he weren’t you wouldn’t have been able to get rid of him so easily, because he really cares about Eric. Maybe you have to know him to realize what a difference it would have made if you’d only been willing to give him a break, not for his sake, but for Erica’s ...”

  “I wish I had known him.”

  “Margaret ...”

  She glanced at her husband without really seeing him and then said to Miriam, “Go on, please.”

  “I can’t tell you what Marc’s like, except that he’s the same kind of person as Erica, he’s the other side of the same medal. They just seem to belong together, that’s all. I guess if you didn’t know he was Jewish, or if that didn’t matter so much, you’d say that there couldn’t be anyone better for Erica than Marc.”

  Her mother went on staring at her for just a moment after Miriam had finished, then turning away, she began to cry in her corner of the sofa with her face hidden in her arms.

  No one had ever seen Margaret Drake cry like that before. Watching her, Miriam found herself thinking dully that whatever Charles Drake did or said from now on, her mother was through. Miriam made a sudden movement toward her, then drew back again. She said, “Well, it wasn’t really your fault anyhow, darling ...”

  “My fault!” she repeated, gasping.

  “Margaret, for heaven’s sake ...”

  She did not even hear him. With her face still hidden she said, “Of course it’s my fault! All the excuse I’ve got is that I didn’t know him and I didn’t realize how much he means to her, and what kind of an excuse is that?”

  She could not stop crying, she had to wait again before she could make herself intelligible, and then she said, “Mothers have no right not to know. It isn’t as though Erica hadn’t tried to tell me, she tried over and over again — she even asked me to lunch with her and Marc and all I ... I ...” she said incredulously, “all I, her own mother, could think of to say was that I was too busy!”<
br />
  “Margaret, stop that!”

  “I can’t stop.” As she felt his hands she pushed him away, saying despairingly, “Leave me alone, Charles. I don’t blame you, I blame myself.”

  He was thoroughly frightened and he did not know what to do; he watched her helplessly for a while, his face working, and then he suddenly rounded on Miriam. He said, raging, “Well, you wanted your row, and now you’ve finished, I’d like to know exactly what you think you’ve accomplished ...”

  Miriam did not answer. At that moment she had remembered a remark that Erica had made to her weeks before when they were walking on the mountain where Erica and Charles had once walked every Sunday afternoon after the Philharmonic broadcast from New York. They had stopped to watch the model yachts sailing back and forth on Beaver Pond, and out of nothing, except perhaps that the place itself was so associated with her father in her mind, Erica had said suddenly, “Charles doesn’t want to go on this way, but he got started on the wrong track at the very beginning and he can’t stop, he just has to keep on going.”

  It was in order to stop him before it was too late that Miriam, who detested rows, had deliberately created this one, but as her father turned away from her, back to his wife again, she knew that so far as Charles Drake was concerned she had accomplished nothing. He had already gone so far that no one else could stop him either.

  X

  The managing editor of the Montreal Post was a slight, grey-haired man in his early forties, with small, unusually white hands, a soft voice, and a fondness for light grey suits, grey ties, and suede shoes. Nobody liked him, but he was recognized as exceptionally capable, and by and large, Erica reflected as zshe sat facing him across his desk, waiting for the verdict, and compared to the other Post employees of whom it was generally said that they learned more in less time and were fired faster than the employees of any other paper in the country, she herself had had a fairly easy time of it, chiefly because she was a Drake and Mr. Prescott was a snob.