On a sudden impulse he turned into the driveway. In the world of adults, into which Margaret had made her belated and unhappy entrance, there was no one who could give her a reason for living. That world of death and tears and middle age offered her no inducement to laugh and be merry again. Margaret’s maturity, which John had given up hoping for, had come to mock him for his folly in wanting to make her over.
HIDDEN SMILES COME TO SURFACE
When John walked into his living room, a three-month-old wire-haired wriggled out of his grasp, tore a destructive path across the room, and leaped into Margaret’s arms. He covered her startled face with kisses, then fastened his teeth in her sleeve and began to tug, growling idiotically, and slipping and sliding over her lap.
Margaret laughed. It was a crazy sound at first, because it was rusty. But then her laughter grew steadier and stronger, and was pealing silver bell. The puppy wagged his stub of tail joyously. He jumped from her lap and planted himself before her, looking up at her roguishly, imploring her to give chase.
Margaret rose. All of the tightness flowed out of hr body. She was lithe and fluid again. Her eyes were sparkling with fun, her cheeks began to blaze with color. She snatched out her hairpins and shook her hair free of the restraint she had held it in. Her mouth puckered into a pout.
Margaret and the puppy romped together.
Quietly John left them and started up the stairs. Half way up he grasped the banister and great sobs racked hi body.
Margaret and the puppy did not hear him.
Fluff and Mr. Ripley
Copyright 1944 by News Syndicate Co. Inc.
August 9, 1944
Summary: Mr. and Mrs. Ripley, who started their life with widely different viewpoints and hopes, wind up the same in this interesting yarn.
When Mr. Ripley began to stay late at the shop, because each new (military) draft depleted the personnel, and those who were left had to double and triple their work, Mrs. Ripley decided not to believe her husband on the increasingly frequent occasions when he phoned to say that business was keeping him downtown.
Mrs. Ripley was forty-five and she did not wear her years with grace. She hated middle age more than she had ever hated anything in her life and did everything to disguise it. Her clothes were far too youthful, her voice was a poor imitation of gay girls, and her friends were constantly changing because she sought the companionship of women years her junior, who laughed behind her back and soon tired of her.
When Mr. Ripley first married her she was plump and pretty and twenty. Mr. Ripley thought she would make an ideal wife and mother. Thought he did not tell her so, he could see her in a wicker rocker with a round and dimpled baby in her arms, while he lay sprawled in the porch swing, reading the funnies to a three year old. The picture pleased him. He further embellished it with a nice old dog who would be stretched across the top step, guarding his loved ones.
Mrs. Ripley hadn’t wanted children. She had wept when her husband, after a year of love and kisses, delicately suggested that it would be nice to start a family. She knew she would look adorable with a baby, like a little girl with a big doll. But the tiresome thing about babies was that they grew. You couldn’t stick to twenty-five when your child turned ten. You couldn’t stay under forty when your selfish child made you a grandmother.
MR. RIPLEY HID HIS DISAPPOINTMENT
Mrs. Ripley never had a child and Mr. Ripley hid his disappointment. He supposed some so men were afraid of dying in childbirth, or of losing their figures, or of having to share their husband’s love. If it was his bit of bad luck to be married to a woman with one of these fears, it was just a bit of bad luck and not a major tragedy. For his wife was really a child herself in all her charming ways. Watching her grow into maturity would be almost as much fun as watching a little girl’s growth.
But Mrs. Ripley had not grown up, and with the years her determination to stay a wide-eyed child began to pall on Mr. Ripley. He grew lonely, because he grew tired of telling Mrs.. Ripley that no, she hadn’t gained a pound when it was plain that she had gained six; that yes, she still looked twenty, when of course, she didn’t; that certainly he wanted her to sit in his lap. She felt like a feather.
Mr. Ripley had decided to buy himself a dog. He wanted companionship and he wasn’t getting it from Mrs. Ripley. He wanted a comfortable dog, not young, not frisky, not little and cute. He wanted a pal who wouldn’t preen before him or climb into his lap.
Mr. Ripley found the dog he wanted a gentle and dignified mastiff out of puppyhood, who liked his new owner at once. He followed Mr. Ripley home from the kennel with no show off tricks and no tiresome chitchat. Mrs. Ripley met them at the door and began to emit little squeals. She said she was afraid of the great big beast, and suppose he had fleas, and what did Mr. Ripley expect to do about him when he went to work?
Mr. Ripley kept Pal by his side for the rest of that day, so that Mrs. Ripley could get used to him gradually, and not be frightened by coming upon him unguarded. But Mrs. Ripley grew jealous at seeing the two so inseparable. This, she imagined, was the way it would be until Pal rolled over and died. Long before nightfall she worked herself up into a temper tantrum, declaring she would not sleep under the same roof with a dangerous dog.
Mr. Ripley took his new friend back to the kennel. Walking home alone down the lonely road, he had a sense of loss so great that sometimes the road blurred before him.
The uneventful years passed. The war and the pressure of work gave Mr. Ripley the first real interest he had had in years. He labored late at his shop, and Mrs. Ripley decided that he was deceiving her. With somebody young, of course, who did not dye her hair? Mrs. Ripley’s jealousy of this unknown woman grew by leaps and bounds. Ad suddenly she had an overwhelming feat that her husband would ask her for a divorce and marry a girl who would give him a child.
She was desperate, and cast about in her mind for some way to keep her husband at home. Then she remembered Pal, and that day of her husband’s devotion to him. Mr. Ripley was nearing fifty, many years her senior, Mrs. Ripley added hastily to herself. Surely at his age he was ready to settle down with a dog and a book. A dog would give him a new interest in his home and encourage him to stay in it.
Mrs. Ripley went shopping for a pet as a surprise for her husband. She settled on a month old handful of fluff, because there was nothing about it suggestive of a big horrid dog that might bite. That afternoon she had a lot of fun making a charming ribbon-tied bed out of a clothesbasket. When Mr. Ripley reached home late that night, basket and Fluff were ensconced on the window set in the bedroom
His mouth fell open. He stared at his wife, who had waked at his footsteps, and now sat up in bed with her chinstrap and curlers, looking very proud of herself.
“What’s that over there?” Mr. Ripley asked almost harshly, hoping wildly that his wife would say someone had left a foundling on their doorstep.
“Go and see,” she urged contentedly.
Cautiously he approached the basket, walking on tiptoe, and feeling very big and awkward beside a small baby. He bent down to look and saw the sleeping puppy.
“It’s a dog,” he said dully.
All of her intent materialism aroused to its defense. “Well, what did you think it was?” she demanded sharply. “I thought you were so crazy about dogs. You were mighty crazy about that old Pal. You just don’t like Fluff because he’s mine.”
The puppy waked at the sound of their strident voice and began to whimper. Mrs. Ripley jumped out of bed, streaked across the room, and cuddled the puppy in her arms.
Mr. Ripley was tired from the long day. He had the crazy feeling that his wife was making sport of him. This was her revenge for her evenings alone. This tiny white dog would never be a fine big fellow like Pal. This was a woman’s pet that his wife had bought to show her contempt for him.
The lack of understanding between Mr. and Mrs. Ripley grew enormously in the next weeks. Business continued to being Mr. Ripley home very late, and Mrs. Ri
pley lavished the rest of her love on Fluff. Mr. Ripley saw his wife’s devotion to the little toy dog with sick eyes. He remembered how seriously his little sister had played house with her dolls, calling them her children, and pretending they were real. Fluff seemed symbolic of the whole unreality of his marriage.
One night he came home with a feeling of deep sadness. Mrs. Heath had broken down in his office. She was his secretary, a quiet widow in her middle forties who had lost her only son in Sicily (during the war). She had taken her loss with courage, but today would have been her son’s birthday. He would have been twenty-one.
MRS. RILEY CRIES OVER PUP’S TAIL
Mrs. Heath had stayed after hours to work with Mr. Ripley, preferring to spend the evening away from home. At nine she and Mr. Ripley had left the office together. Mr. Ripley had watched her go in the opposite direction, and had had the impulse to follow her keep hr from brooding alone.
Mrs. Ripley’s eyes were red-rimmed when she opened the door to her husband. They were swollen as if she had cried a long time. He came in quickly. “What happened?” His mind, already oppressed by Mrs. Heath’s grief, flew to his sister’s boys, both overseas.
His entry started her tears again. She could not speak. He seized her shoulders and shook hr hard.
“Tell me,” he demanded fiercely,
“Fluff,” she said between sobs. “I took him to the hospital today to have his tail cut. He cried so when I left him, and he was so quiet and scared when it was over. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. And Fluff may never forgive me either.”
The puppy came into view then. He was subdued but very much alive. As a matter of fact he lifted his bandaged tail in greeting. “I’ll get you a bite and tell you all about it,” said Mrs. Ripley.
Mr. Ripley rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Your dog lost his tail. Other women have lost their sons.” Suddenly he did not feel tired anymore. “I’m going out again. But before I go, I’ll pack my bag. I’ll send for it tomorrow.”
A Boy In the House
News Syndicate, Inc
August 24, 1944
Summary: When Roy and Nora met, they fell in love immediately. They married and Nora rejoiced in her role as stepmother, loving Skippy as her own son. Her world collapses when she discovers something that changes all of this.
When Nora met Roy Ormsby, she thought he was ten years younger than he was. He had a frank, boyish quality that charmed her at once, and made him seem twenty-five instead of thirty-seven. She was twenty-nine. Some days later, when a friend informed her of his actual age, her feeling was one of intense relief. She examined this emotion with surprise, and blushed at the reason behind it. She was in love with Roy Ormsby. Something terrific had happened to her heart the first time she set eyes on him.
Quite by accident Nora ran into Roy one sunny Saturday. He held her outstretched hand a moment longer than necessary and she felt excitement riding inside her. Perhaps he had liked her on first meeting, too. Anyway, it was plain he hadn’t disliked her.
“Where are you off too?” he demanded “I’m waiting for a street car,” she said. Then they both burst out laughing, much more heartily than her innocent witticism deserved.
TOUCH OF HIS FINGERS BRINGS MAGIC TO HER
“Why don’t you admit you were waiting for me?” he said.
She hated herself for blushing and being unable to think of a clever retort. “No, really,” she said quickly. “I’ve a hundred and one things to do at home. That’s where I’m going.”
“That’s what you think,” he said agreeably. “Look, there’s a park gate not a yard away. And beyond that gate there’s not a care in the world. Come on and let me show you the spot where the wind blew my toupee.”
She laughed, and let herself is led through the gate with her hand again in his. Some magic was working inside her through the touch of his fingers. The world outside seemed far away. The thing she wanted most to do was to take off her shoes and pretend she was a little girl of ten.
“You see,” he said triumphantly.
“What?” she said rather breathlessly, knowing that he had read her thoughts.
“You look like a happy little girl. I like the way the park makes you too,” he said.
She wanted to say “It isn’t the park at all, it’s you. You make me feel as young as you feel.” She said instead, “I’ve got two rooms in a tall apartment house. When I can’t stand them any longer, I look at the pictures in a garden magazine.”
He stopped dead in his tracks and struck his forehead with mock solemnity. “You see before you a seer, seeing the house you’ve picked out. It’s snug on a hill, white, with blue blinds. There’s a flagstone walk and a lily pond.”
Suddenly she couldn’t be teased about it. She tried to laugh, but it was not very successful. She turned her face away and did not trust herself to speak.
“Is that he way you like a house to look?” There was no raillery in his voice. “Is it?” he persisted. She steadied her voice and said lightly, “I’ll let you draw the plans for my dream house.”
“I’ve a better plan. I’ll show you that house, and I’m not a salesman. It’s mine.”
“I thought it was,” she said simply. He thrust his hand through her arm and steered her toward the pond, where busy little boys were being admirals.
“Name the day when you can come, and I’ll empty the ash trays, and polish my shoes, and wash the dog.”
That was his way of making love. She had thought the grand passion required soft lights. But nobody had to tell her she was being wooed. This was it. For in this short while she had learned enough about this man to know that if he had talked otherwise neither of them could have borne it. Something had swept them both off their feet and only his light approach could control them. They stopped to smile at the little boys.
“Do you like kids,” Roy asked.
“I love them. Boys especially.”
“I have a boy,” Roy said. “Seventeen. His mother died when he was three. There’s been just the two of us since.”
Nora tried to conceal her surprise and shock. She said quickly, “You seem so young to be the father of a nearly grown boy.”
“Skip’s kept me young,” he explained. “We’ve hand a heck of a lot of fun together.”
She was suddenly terribly jealous of his son. “Is that why you never remarried?”
“No,” he said promptly and seriously. “I’ve never remarried because I’ve never been in love. I’m not even sure I loved Skip’s mother. I was only nineteen and she was the prettiest girl on the campus. We eloped one night. But I don’t remember any bells ringing in my ears or any flags waving in my heart the way it was with me the day I met you.”
She pressed his arm. “That’s the way it is when you’re in love.”
Two months later they were married and Nora went to live in the white house with the blue blinds. Skippy approved of her. He was a senior in his last month in high school, certain to graduate with honors, and very serious about the war. He and Roy were armchair strategists nightly.
Nora liked Skippy best when she was alone with him. He was full of the joy of living, and his brand of humor was wonderful. But with his father he was different. He talked to him gravely about the war and life and even death. And sometimes Nora saw him look at Roy with an expression of such compassion that she would turn away quickly.
She could not understand it. Why should he look at Roy like that? Why was he different when Roy was around? Hadn’t Roy said that Skipp’s youth had kept him young? Well, Skippy was certainly acting like Old Man Mose nowadays. Was it because he didn’t approve of his father’s marriage, but wouldn’t voice his disapproval because that wasn’t the thing to do?
On the day that Roy and Skippy went for a long walk and Roy came back looking white about the mouth, Nora knew that Skippy had told him he didn’t want a stepmother. Now Roy was going to be torn between his wife and his son. Nora steeled herself to face his decision.
&nbs
p; SKIPPY’s ATTITUDE CHANGES OVERNIGHT
Overnight, Skippy’s attitude toward Roy changed. He was gay again with his father. Nora could guess what Skippy was doing. He was trying to take his father away from her.
On the eve of Skippy’s graduation Nora decided to talk it out with Roy. For that was the night she came to the unhappy conclusion that Skippy had won.
Immediately, and angrily she made up her mind to tell Roy to send the boy to some farm to work through the summer. And when Skippy got ready to choose his college, she would insist that Roy help him choose one that was far, far away. As it was, he hadn’t said a word about higher education. Didn’t want to leave home and Daddy.
Nora followed Roy to the front porch. He was leaning against the railing, pulling on his pipe. His face was controlled again.
“Marvelous night,” she said lightly. “Let’s go look at the lily pond.”
They stood and looked at the flowers. She remembered how they had stood and looked at the little boys who could break hearts because their youth was so beautiful. I want to talk about Skippy,” she said desperately.
Her tone arrested him. “Do you? Did he tell you?” he said slowly.
“I’ve known for a long time, she said bleakly.
He sighed deeply and fully. “He didn’t want you to know before tomorrow. He’s a kid who loves laughter. He loved to make you laugh, and he didn’t want to make you cry before he had to.”
“What sweet consideration,” she said bitterly.
He looked a little embarrassed. “Well, the kid took a fancy to you from the first, and I suppose he thinks you feel the same way. He told me about his desire to enlist (in the military) because he had to have my consent. You may have noticed he’s been standing on his head ever since to make me laugh again. That’s why he’s been so gay. He wants us to remember him that way. That’s the way he wants to remember us.”
The Last Leaf of Harlem Page 20