The Last Princess

by Cynthia Freeman

  Benjamin, on the other hand, felt less magnanimous. He believed that Harry had written because he needed help. It was common knowledge that Lily had been disinherited, so that they couldn’t be living on her dowry, and now that they had a child, it seemed obvious that Harry was desperate to get a job in the bank.

  Benjamin had heard that Harry had written several articles here and there, but good Lord, that certainly was not enough to support a family. After lunch, Benjamin decided to make it easy on his son. He took him into the study for coffee, smiled, and said, “Well, Harry? When would you like to start at the bank?”

  Harry stared at his father in disbelief, realizing at last why Benjamin had been so welcoming. He thought he had won; that Harry had come to ask for work, not because he loved his family.

  “Is that why you think I’m here, Father?” said Harry with a short laugh. “I’m a writer and I have no intention of changing my profession. What I wanted today was for us to be reconciled as a family—nothing more.”

  Angry as much at having been wrong as at learning Harry would not be joining the family business, Benjamin exploded with rage.

  “You are throwing away the opportunity of a lifetime. Well, you’ve been an idler all your life and now I see that you’re never going to change. You’re always going to be a good-for-nothing. I hope you realize it’s not just your heritage you’re throwing away, but your son’s.”

  “My son will have his own legacy!” Harry shot back.

  “His father the author? Tell me, what great strides have you made in the literary world?”

  Harry was so hurt he could barely answer. “Don’t worry about us, Father, we’re getting along fine.”

  But Benjamin was too shrewd to be taken in. “How much money have you made in the last year?”

  “That’s none of your business. The point is, I haven’t had to ask for your help.”

  “Now that you’re living out in the country, I sincerely hope that it’s not a hovel like the one you had when you were at Columbia.”

  “God, there’s no end to your cruelty.”

  “Well, you don’t need to put up with any more of it,” said Benjamin, “because I wash my hands of you.”

  Harry cringed as his father’s brutal, merciless words ripped away at the last vestiges of self-esteem, but he could not give his father the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d been wounded.

  “Even if we never see you again,” Harry shouted, “I’ll tell you for once what I really think of you. You’re a bully. The moment someone refuses to do things your way, you explode. My brothers knuckled under but I won’t. And that’s what you can’t forgive!” Harry walked out of the study and slammed the door.

  When he appeared in the living room, Lily and Elise, who were chatting about the baby, looked up in surprise.

  “Lily, it’s time we were leaving,” was all he said.

  Realizing he must have fought with his father, both women exchanged sad glances, but all Lily said was, “Of course, darling.”

  Face remote and set, Harry went over to his mother, took her hands and kissed her cheek. “It was wonderful to see you, Mother.”

  Elise followed them to the door. “We had such a nice visit, my dear,” she said to Lily. “You’ll come again soon and bring the baby?”

  Harry answered for her. “I don’t think so, Mother. Not for a while.” They left her standing on the front stoop, waving forlornly.

  On the drive home, Lily longed to ask what had happened, but seeing Harry grimly pressing the gas pedal to the floor, she remained silent. It was only when they lay alongside each other in bed that Harry gave her a brief sketch of the scene. He couldn’t bring himself to repeat his father’s scathing assessment of his future. Instead, he just said, “It was the same old thing, Lily. He wants me to come work in the bank, and I told him that I wouldn’t do it.”

  “Oh,” she said slowly. “That was all?”

  “Yes,” he lied.

  “Well, it’s too bad that that had to spoil the day for you, sweetheart. Your mother was so charming to me.”

  “I knew they would love you, Lily,” he said, drawing her into his arms, finally finding solace in her embrace.

  Over the next few days Lily decided it was time to pocket her own pride and write her mother and father. After several attempts, she penned a short note telling them about the baby and asking them to visit. Several weeks passed with no answer. Then, almost one month to the day, Lily received a phone call burying all hopes of eventual reunion.

  It was from Christian Raines, her father’s attorney. “Lily, I have some very sad news,” he said gently. “Your parents’ sailboat capsized in Long Island Sound and I’m afraid their bodies have just been identified.”

  Lily began to weep.

  “I’m afraid I can’t even ask you to the funeral,” Christian went on. “Your father’s will not only disinherited you, leaving his fortune to charity, but specifically requested you not be present. My dear, I know he would have forgiven you in time. He even had a letter from you in his desk. Perhaps he would have answered …”

  There were a few more kind words uttered, but Lily was no longer listening. Remembering her years of exile in Europe, she found little comfort in the probability of being reunited with her parents had they lived.

  Chapter 13

  IT SEEMED THAT THE adage “Time heals all wounds” did not apply in the case of Harry’s relationship with his father. As the months passed, Harry’s memory of his father’s words continued to plague him. Deep down, he feared that his father was right: He would fail as a writer as he had at school. If it had not been for Lily, he might have given up, but she constantly bolstered his ego.

  “Darling, I know how bad you feel about your parents, but you have to believe in yourself. I know that you’re going to be famous.”

  Between Lily’s faith on the one hand and his own pride on the other, he threw himself into his work with a vengeance. Writing furiously, he submitted one article after another. They ranged from the philosophical to the humorous to the literary—whatever he thought might find a market.

  He totally abandoned the idea of finishing the novel. Potentially, of course, it could make a great deal more money than any article, but he just didn’t have the luxury of devoting the year he now felt it would take to complete it.

  He worked so hard that Lily almost had to pry him away from the pine desk for meals. One night she woke up at two in the morning to find Harry’s side of the bed empty and hear the clatter of the typewriter coming from downstairs. She put on her robe and went to his study. “Harry, do you realize that it’s two in the morning? Come to bed, darling.”

  Wearily, he rubbed his eyes. “I want to finish this, Lily,” he said, sighing.

  “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

  “Lily, I don’t want to talk about it! I set my own deadlines, and this is going in the mail today.”

  Pityingly, she saw his lined face, his red-rimmed eyes.

  “Darling, what are you trying to prove?”

  Remembering his father’s words, he snapped, “I’m not trying to prove a goddamn thing. I’m just trying to keep bread on the table and a roof over our heads.”

  Lily was dumbfounded. This was the first time Harry had ever lashed out at her. And why was he so upset about money? After all, they had over twenty thousand dollars in the bank, they owned their own house, and their expenses were almost negligible.

  “Harry, I’m sorry,” she said reasonably. “I’m not trying to interfere, but you just look so tired.”

  Slamming his fist on the table, he shouted, “Damn it, Lily! I’m going to finish this, now!”

  After a moment’s shocked silence, she turned away, tears welling up in her eyes. She was halfway upstairs before Harry came to his senses. Running after her, he said huskily, “Please, darling, forgive me. I didn’t mean to yell.”

  “I’m sorry I interrupted you,” Lily said through her tears. “I didn’t realize how you felt
. Of course, if you want to finish your article, you have a right to.”

  Kissing her he said, “I’ll just be another twenty minutes, darling.”

  So Lily fast learned lesson number one in her marriage: Harry did not want to be disturbed when he was writing. Determined to be the perfect wife, she became scrupulous about not intruding on his privacy, no matter how she might worry about his physical well-being.

  Yet secretly Lily did not quite understand why Harry pushed himself this hard. There were days when she barely saw him, and then love-making became rare. Since he’d never confided in her, she didn’t understand that in addition to wanting to prove his family wrong, he was torn between the need to sell his work and taking the time to finish his novel. Therefore, between those two obsessions, Harry found himself with a feeling of total impotence.

  Finally, one day he stopped in disgust, staring at a silly humorous piece about trout fishing. With a single motion, he ripped out the sheet, crumpled it, and threw it in the wastebasket.

  Rolling in another sheet of paper, he took a deep breath and began writing. The responsibility of a man to his conscience … For the next day and a half, the words flowed like molten lava. God, it felt good, he thought. He had forgotten that writing could give him this sense of fulfillment, but then, he hadn’t worked on anything meaningful since he got married.

  Finally he typed, The End. It wasn’t a particularly commercial piece, unless by some lucky chance Harper’s or The Atlantic Monthly was interested, but it was something he could be proud of.

  Breathlessly, he rushed to Lily, who was sitting in the bedroom nursing Jeremy. He simply had to share this with her.

  “You’ve got to hear this!” he said, ignoring the baby.

  Lily put her finger to her lips. “Sssh, darling! You’ll wake Jeremy!”

  Staring at her as though she had struck him, he whirled and walked out of the room. At that moment he almost hated his own child. What if Jeremy did wake up? Was that the end of the world? Harry fumed. He didn’t ask much of Lily, but when he needed her, dammit, she should at least listen to him!

  He left so rapidly Lily didn’t even realize he was upset. She cradled Jeremy in her arms and lay down alongside him in her own bed. He was so precious, so very precious.

  Awakened by his whimper, she looked at the clock and realized with surprise that she had slept for two hours.

  Quickly, she changed his diaper and put him on his stomach in the playpen. Leaving him cooing at a stuffed animal, she hurried down to the kitchen, where she started to make dinner. In the midst of frying chicken, she suddenly realized that she hadn’t spoken to Harry all day. Her conscience bothered her a little. Had he even had lunch?

  After putting a pan of biscuits in the oven, she went down the hall. For a moment, she hesitated. Then, not hearing the typewriter, she walked over and put her hand on his shoulder.

  “Would you like some dinner, Harry? The chicken will be ready soon.”

  “Chicken?” he replied with exaggerated surprise. “Why, what a treat!”

  Lily stood dumbfounded. “What’s wrong, Harry?”

  “Wrong? You’ve noticed that something is wrong?”

  “Harry, why are you acting like this? Is the work going poorly?”

  He stared at her incredulously and thought, She doesn’t even remember. All she cares about is the baby.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t bring lunch, darling,” she was saying.

  “Your concern is a little too late. You didn’t even look up when I wanted to read you my article.”

  Suddenly Lily remembered Harry’s brief appearance in the bedroom. “I’m sorry, darling,” she said. “I didn’t realize what you wanted. Please read it to me now.”

  “No. It’s too late,” Harry said, sulking.

  “Oh, Harry, please don’t be like that. Jeremy is only six months old—babies have a lot of needs.”

  “And so do husbands!” he retorted angrily.

  Lily stared at him in consternation. This was the first indication she had that Harry was unhappy. But she hadn’t neglected him! He was locked up with his work most of the time—she would have loved it if he spent more time with her and the baby. Still, she didn’t want to fight, and soothingly she said, “I’m sorry, darling. Maybe I have neglected you. Will you forgive me?”

  Looking at her for a long moment, he softened. He never could be angry with her for long. She did look tired, and she had been working hard … and he was acting like a spoiled child.

  That night they slept in each other’s arms.

  Unhappily, after their brief moment of reconciliation they both reverted to their former habits. Harry resumed his total absorption in his work while Lily, adapting to his isolation, became more and more fascinated with Jeremy. Neither husband nor wife admitted that they were drifting apart.

  As Jeremy began to crawl and get into mischief, Lily found it impossible to discipline him. Occasionally it occurred to her that she really ought to be a little firmer with him, but he was such an adorable baby, and when he looked up at her with those big blue eyes, she couldn’t find it in her heart to chastise him.

  Harry too adored him, but unfortunately spent little time with him. When Jeremy got up in the morning, Harry was sleeping, and Jeremy was asleep again by the time Harry stopped working in the evening. So the little boy got almost none of a father’s much-needed discipline. Harry wasn’t about when the toddler washed his rubber duck in the toilet or painted the walls with lipstick. And Lily only laughed at his antics. On the days when he helped her plant seeds, he somehow got more into his mouth than into the ground, but by the time she could say, “Jeremy, spit those out!” he had already swallowed them.

  One morning in November as she sat feeding him breakfast, she was suddenly overcome by a feeling of nausea. Although it wore off rather quickly, the same thing happened again the next morning, and without having seen Dr. Hansen Lily knew that she was pregnant.

  Nothing could have thrilled her more.

  But nothing could have thrilled Harry less.

  “Lily, we just can’t afford another baby right now! You know I’ve been working my tail off, night and day, and I still haven’t been able to make any real money.”

  “For heaven’s sake, how much does it cost to feed a little tiny baby?”

  “It isn’t just the money. Lily, until I get on my feet, we shouldn’t be taking on any more responsibilities.”

  “But I’m already pregnant.”

  Harry sat silent for a moment. Maybe he should give up his attempts at writing. Call his father and go to work in the bank. If only the timing in his life hadn’t been so bad. If only he had become established as an author before he met Lily, everything would have been so different. Instead, his lack of success had eroded his confidence and now with a second child he feared he would never be able to take the time off to finish that novel. It was like a conspiracy against him.

  As if she knew what he was thinking, Lily impulsively put her arms around him, whispering, “Be happy, Harry. It’s the greatest gift I could give you.”

  And it was, dammit! He would never forget how he had felt, holding Jeremy in his arms at that moment of birth.

  “I am, darling—truly, I am.”

  Suddenly they were aware of Jeremy’s presence as he tugged at his mother’s skirt. Looking down at him, Harry smiled.

  Andrew Kohle was born at Mount Sinai Hospital on June 18, 1935. A late spring rain pelted heavily against the windows. That was another omen, Harry thought. His children always seemed to be born when it was raining. But this time he’d insisted on bringing Lily to New York City to stay with Randolph the week before the baby was due. He wasn’t chancing any more home deliveries. He and Randolph were sitting in the waiting room when the nurse announced, “Mr. Kohle? It’s a boy.”

  “Isn’t he wonderful?” Lily said when Harry was allowed into her room.

  “Yes, of course, darling. But let me tell you, Lily, this has got to be the last for a whi
le. We can’t afford any more children.”

  Having a second child made Harry feel his deficiencies as a provider even more keenly, and he wrote feverishly, submitting one article after another.

  But something was wrong. Half of the articles he submitted now were rejected. Was he slipping or was he writing the wrong kind of material? He didn’t realize that in his drive to sell his work, his style had become forced and mechanical. Instead of sharing his worries with Lily, he became cross and withdrawn. After every fight he begged her forgiveness, but the tension in the house kept mounting.

  But there were other storm clouds on their horizon. In spite of Lily’s care, she became pregnant again. In no uncertain terms, Harry made his feelings clear. She had no right at all to have more children, knowing how he felt. Harry was furious at first, but he knew, on reflection, the responsibility was as much his as hers. Over the next months, his attitude softened. When he saw his new son, named after Randolph, Lily’s favorite cousin, Harry was again filled with love for his offspring. “Oh, Lily, he’s just wonderful.”

  “You mean it, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Randolph himself handed out the cigars proudly, as though he were the father. Secretly he thought the child looked just like him, and when he cradled little Randy in his arms, he almost felt that this was his own baby. Randolph lavished gifts on the child and sent Lily a luxurious full-length mink coat.

  Even she didn’t know that he could never have any children of his own. His diabetes had left him impotent and until now he had channeled all his energies and dreams into the Goodhue Rubber Company, of which he was president and principal shareholder. With little Randolph’s birth, he found another outlet for his love and he determined to do everything in his power to see that the child had a happy life.

  Although Harry had accepted the baby with love, his obsession with making a living became frenzied. Night after night he sat at his desk until the early hours of the morning. There were now five people to be fed and provided for, and the expenses seemed enormous, no matter how frugal Harry and Lily tried to be. Harry found it hard to be philosophical when unpaid bills were staring him in the face. And the worst thing was that Lily didn’t understand his anxiety at all.