Bethlehem

by Karen Kelly

  She knew that Frank’s childhood had been a happy one—that his mother had been active and involved with her children—but he’d shared that he had always found her, in some way, unknowable. He’d said it was as though she had some private, inner realm to which he would never be admitted.

  Except once.

  One evening during their courtship, Frank and Joanna were in his car, prolonging the sweet good night, when a song came on the radio. After a moment Frank sat back with a puzzled look, then turned to peer out the window as if he were trying to see something in the distance. As it turned out, he was trying to see something in the past.

  “I know this song.…” It was almost a question—the words slowed by foggy recollection. “One time—I must have been about ten years old—I was working on a model airplane, and the song was playing on the radio.” Frank gave Joanna a self-deprecating smile. “I went through a big model airplane phase.” Turning back to the window, he continued, thoughtful. “I was in my dad’s study, sort of hidden behind his desk. I had a newspaper spread out on the floor, and I was lying on my stomach, working on that block of balsa they used to give you.”

  As Frank told it, the big Crosley radio in the corner was tuned to the weekly broadcast of Jack Armstrong, the All American Boy. That was why he was in the study to begin with. But it hadn’t started yet. There was music piping softly through the mesh fabric of the console—someone crooning an old Irving Berlin tune: “What’ll I Do.” As he began to carve the fuselage, his mother passed the open door and stopped suddenly. From Frank’s position on the far side of the large partners’ desk, he could see only her legs as she took a few steps into the study. And then, very slowly, she sank onto the horsehair chair at her side, grasping the stuffed arm like it was a crutch.

  “There was something about it that was just … well … different. She was always pretty purposeful and focused—she wasn’t the type to just drift around. But it was like she was in a kind of trance or something. So I just stayed quiet. I think I wanted to see what she would do next. It was so strange. And then I leaned forward and I could see her face, and I had never seen her look like that. She was just staring at the radio, and there was this … sadness … I mean, it was like she was looking at something really tragic. I remember it sort of scared me. I didn’t want her to know I was there. Not just because it would have been awkward, but also because it was, well … fascinating. I had always sort of sensed that there was something there, you know, something she wouldn’t share with anyone.” He paused for a moment, remembering. “And then she started to cry.” He gave Joanna a weighty look. “I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that my mother does not cry.”

  “And then what happened?” Joanna was as fascinated now as Frank had been then.

  “I sat up.” Frank shrugged. “I guess I forgot I was hiding. She looked at me like a deer in the headlights—frozen there with tears running down her cheeks. And then she just stood up and walked away.”

  “Did you ever ask her about it?” Compassion was Joanna’s immediate sentiment, but she was also just plain curious.

  “No.” With a short laugh, he raised a skeptical brow. “Would you have?”

  * * *

  With appropriate applause for Daisy’s headstand, Susannah now settled back on the chair, crossing her legs and angling her shoulders toward Joanna. “What have we here?” Reaching over, she tilted the album. “Ah, the vaunted presidential dinner.” She looked at the photo for a moment. “To hear mother tell it, Eleanor Roosevelt was her doppelgänger. I think she felt they were spiritually kindred. She talked about that meeting for weeks.”

  “It really is incredible,” Joanna responded, “to think that Beth Steel held such a prominent position in the ranks of industry.” When they were first married, Frank had taken Joanna to New York to see The Pajama Game on Broadway. Walking down the avenues, he could point to practically any structure—the Chrysler Building, Rockefeller Center, the Waldorf-Astoria—and proudly claim it as one of the company’s own. She knew, of course, that the business her husband’s grandfather had built was the largest forging operation in the country, but until more recently she had been unaware of just what Hollins Parrish had accomplished.

  “Yes, my father was something of a visionary.” There was pride in Susannah’s voice, as well as tenderness. “Much of it was timing, of course; first there were the railways and the ships, but then—with the wars—the armor plate, the guns, the shells, the submarines … they made it all. At one point, the stock went from thirty dollars to seven hundred in the span of three years.” She shook her head at the idea of it, and then raised her brow and leveled a significant look at Joanna. “And then came the H beam. The best move my father ever made was to hire Charles Collier. He came up with the wide-flange beam, and that changed everything. Nobody else had it. You can thank Charles for the skyscraper. And for long-span bridges—the Golden Gate, the George Washington…” She paused and recrossed her legs, glancing absently at the children as she continued. “After Wyatt took over, there was the business of heavy forging and nuclear power, and things just continued to”—she smiled wryly—“explode.”

  Joanna was beginning to notice that when it came to matters of historical explication, whether the topic was religious freedom or structural steel, her mother-in-law could be positively loquacious. “I guess Frank’s career was a foregone conclusion, what with it coming down both lines like that.” She couldn’t quite disguise the resignation in her voice. Although it had never been specifically stated, Joanna had been aware, from the earliest days of their marriage, that her husband was being groomed to step into his father’s shoes, just as Wyatt had done when his father-in-law retired. But Frank was far from ready when Wyatt died so unexpectedly, and for the first time in sixty years, someone from outside the family was now in charge.

  “It doesn’t always work that way,” Susannah replied. “My brother, Kit, was bitten by the travel bug at an early age, and when he finally settled down in Peru, we knew he wouldn’t be back. He wanted to make his own way, on his own terms.” Her brow furrowed a little as she paused to consider the facts. “Well … perhaps there is something in the bloodline after all. He ended up running an iron mine.”

  Joanna laughed, then looked at her mother-in-law thoughtfully. It occurred to her that the board of directors might have missed the mark when they named Wyatt Collier’s replacement. “It seems to me you could have run the company yourself.”

  “Believe me, I wanted to … when I was about six years old,” Susannah said. She wore an amused, faraway look. “For a brief time when I was a little girl, I went down to my father’s office nearly every day, hoping to get a job. What I really wanted to do was run the elevator. I just couldn’t believe that a person could step into a small room, close the door, and magically come out in a different place.” She gazed distantly across the room. “And I loved the dining room. My father used to let me come to lunch every now and then—all those waiters, making a big fuss about the little girl at the big table in her very best dress.” She turned to Joanna. “Have you been to the executive dining rooms?”

  For those who dwelt in the hallowed halls of the executive offices, the exalted dining rooms at Bethlehem Steel served elaborate five-course meals on white linen tablecloths—not just at lunch, but breakfast and dinner, too. Joanna shook her head. “No. With babies at home … and the drive from Chestnut Hill … it just wasn’t practical. I suppose I could go now, if I had an invitation, but I don’t think it has ever occurred to Frank to ask me. Lately he’s in Burns Harbor most of the time, anyway.”

  Susannah dropped her eyes to her lap. There was a momentary lull as she seemed to be deliberating. She looked up at the children for a minute, and then—keeping her eyes on their flailing limbs—came to the point.

  “I was wondering … if there’s anything you might like to talk about … in regard to, perhaps, the challenges of your … situation … here?”

  Joanna was nearly speechless. H
esitation and concerned intimacy were not qualities she would ever have assigned to her mother-in-law. The question seemed dangerously loaded, and her mind reeled as she considered her response. She thought immediately about all the afternoons at the cemetery. Had Helen’s remarks been as pointed as Joanna had feared—and did the woman say something to her daughter to plant a seed of speculation?

  Her response matched Susannah’s in its stammering reluctance. “I … I’m not sure … what you mean. I mean … it’s difficult, yes, with Frank so busy at work … and the travel on top of it … I guess I have been a little … frustrated.…” She let the sentence trail off, unsure of the direction she should take.

  Her mother-in-law looked at her now, direct and deliberate. “Yes, I can imagine you would be. I remember those days well—I was all too familiar with the role of corporate widow before becoming an actual one. But your … trials … are compounded, certainly, by the fact that your life has been uprooted, and then replanted in a place that is not your own, among people who are not your own. And I imagine that presents an entirely separate set of challenges.”

  A small relief settled through Joanna’s shoulders. This seemed like fairly safe ground—Susannah was simply offering sympathy, not warning or reproach. But the subject was somewhat delicate, nonetheless, and Joanna felt a bit awkward. “Well, yes, I guess it has been something of an adjustment. But the kids are as happy as can be.…” She glanced over at them bouncing around like puppies, then made a sweeping scan of the room. “And we certainly can’t complain about the lodgings.” She gave a little laugh—an effort to keep things light.

  For a few moments there was nothing but the peal of the children’s voices, but then Susannah cleared her throat and—straightforward but careful—asked another question: “Are you aware that there’s an old, rudimentary sort of intercom in the nursery? I mean, in what is now the playroom?”

  It was an odd segue, and it took Joanna a minute to recall that Frank had, indeed, pointed it out when he first showed her around the house. “Oh yes. I’d forgotten. Frank mentioned it once. I thought it was a very smart idea in a house of this size. I know I would have wanted to keep an ear tuned for babies crying.” While she couldn’t think why Susannah would suddenly bring it up, Joanna was happy for a safe subject.

  Susannah looked away again as she spoke, a telling sign. “I’m not sure you realize that it doesn’t necessarily turn off. There isn’t anything electronic about it—just simple mechanics. Over the years, Mother has had the supreme privilege of sitting in audience to the fascinating goings-on of the children’s hour, should she be in proximity of the speaker.”

  Something like shame surged through Joanna’s veins as the tumbler clicked over, unlocking the riddle of her mother-in-law’s visit to the ballroom. She and Frank had been arguing the night before—in fact, it was the biggest fight they’d ever had—and it just so happened they had been standing in the playroom. After saying good night to Charlie and Daisy, Joanna had spoken on the phone with her mother for a while, and then gone to the playroom to tidy up. Normally, she was adamant that the children pick up their own toys and games. She still wasn’t comfortable with the presumption that a maid would do it. But that night their father had arrived home in time to read them a bedtime story, so she let them off the hook.

  After he had tucked the kids in, Frank had come to find her. Picking up a couple of books from the floor, he casually (too casually) mentioned that his sister, Gigi, would be coming home for Christmas that year. He knew very well that Joanna had been counting the days until they packed up the car and headed off for the holidays with her family. Since moving to Bethlehem, she had only seen her parents twice—both times for short weekend visits with the children. That Eileen and John Rafferty had declined any invitations to come to Brynmor did not surprise Joanna in the least. They knew they would be completely out of their element, and Joanna had no desire to put them in that position. And so, she went to them—but the visits were too infrequent. For weeks now she had been making excited plans with the children about going to see Meemaw and Pops for Christmas.

  “I was thinking about it,” Frank said. “I know we planned to go to Pennsport, but what if we just rearranged things a little? We could go after the fact, and celebrate Christmas with your parents a few days later.” He didn’t give Joanna a chance to respond, rushing to advance the argument. “Gigi is afraid this could be the last holiday she’ll be able to spend with all of us, and I think she makes a good point. I mean, my grandmother isn’t getting any younger, and who knows when Gigi will next decide to grace us with her presence? I really think it would mean a lot—to my mother, too—to have us all here this year.” He was pacing in a small circle, looking nervously around the floor for more things to pick up.

  For a moment Joanna just stared at him. The hot indignation swelling in her chest was expanding so fast, she thought she might explode. And then she did—in a steaming combination of burning outrage and icy resentment that erupted like a geyser. “Gigi? Really? You are going to let her to do this to me? To our children? Why is she always allowed to have it her way? It’s Christmas for God’s sake! She could come back anytime she wanted, but leave it to Gigi to pick the single time it would cause a problem. If you want to celebrate Christmas on the wrong day, then why don’t we just do that here? Why should my parents have to sacrifice the rare time they get to be with their only grandchildren and their only daughter—on a holiday that means everything to them—just because of your crazy sister? I will not allow her to do this. No. No. Absolutely not.” She was flushed and nearly hyperventilating, but she wasn’t finished. “What is wrong with you? Why would you even consider it? Here I am, stuck in this … this … feudal castle like Rapunzel, with nothing but small talk all the time—God forbid your mother should want to actually get to know me—and you popping in once in a while to say hello. Well, you can forget it. I’m taking the kids to my parents’ house for Christmas. You can stay here with your dear sister, if that’s what you want to do.” Her lips were pressed tightly together as she took a stuttering breath through her nose, eyes narrowed and glowering.

  Frank was looking at her with his mouth open, stunned, but there was also a wary, assessing quality in his eyes as he gave her an uneasy once-over—manifestly worried that his wife had gone over the edge.

  In the end, he tried to right the mast by vowing to speak to Gigi about it. But he didn’t venture into the dangerous waters of the deeper implications, and when he reached for Joanna in the dark, she turned away. In the aftermath of the storm, she couldn’t see her way back to shore—she had drifted too far out and it felt like the tide was against her.

  Now she felt a gut-clenching mortification as she mentally replayed her outburst, trying to recall exactly what she had said. But before she could come up with any kind of response, Susannah reached out to lay a hand lightly on her knee.

  “I’m sorry your privacy was imposed upon like that. Frankly, I can’t imagine anything worse. After Mother shared her … concerns … I was very reluctant to say anything. After all, it wasn’t information to which we were entitled. But in the end, I decided to be forthright. Not only because it’s the decent thing, but also because I want you to know that I’m very pleased to have you here. I realize this can’t be easy for you, and I clearly haven’t succeeded in making you feel at home. I regret that. I’d like you to think of this as your own home, as much as it is mine, or even Mother’s.” She paused briefly, and then went on in a more ruminative tone. “I never intended to be here, myself. I loved the home where we raised our family. But life is nothing if not unpredictable.” She looked at the children, now playing leapfrog. “And who knew I’d have the privilege of watching these two wildflowers grow, right in my own garden?” She turned back to give Joanna a kind smile. “And their lovely mother here too, to make us all a family.”

  Joanna felt tears welling. She would have been moved in any case, but the fact that the show of sentiment was so unexpected,
and (it was undeniable) so rare, added emotional heft.

  Folding her hands in her lap, Susannah continued. “Again, I truly apologize for the means, but since I am—however inappropriately—privy, I insist you go to your family for the holidays. I’ll handle Genevieve. She can certainly wait to see you all. Heaven knows we’ve waited long enough to see her, and she owes us more than just a few days. We will accommodate whatever your schedule requires.”

  “Thank you.” Joanna swallowed a lump in her throat. “I guess it’s no secret that it means a lot to me. And I’m sorry if I said anything … well, anything … ungracious last night. I was a little…” She couldn’t find the right words, and once again Susannah patted her.

  “Nothing more need be said. You certainly have the right to speak to your own husband without being spied on. Let’s just call it an aberrant opportunity … and in the future, you will know better: any conversation not intended for Mother’s ears shouldn’t take place in the nursery.”

  Joanna smiled, relieved to have that particular dialogue behind her. She had to admit, though, she wasn’t entirely sorry about the whole thing. If it had served to establish a better connection to her mother-in-law, maybe it was—as Susannah said—a strange sort of opportunity. She shifted in her chair and realized she was still holding the photo album open on her lap. Idly flipping the pages back, she remembered her curiosity about the window on the landing. She found the picture and was just holding it up to show Susannah when Charlie’s voice rang from across the room.