She kept repeating, “We have our little nest egg.”
But Harry knew that the nest egg was inexorably dwindling. One didn’t have to be a Wall Street banker to understand that if more went out than came in, eventually there would be nothing left. Sometimes when he watched her from his window, as she frolicked with the boys, he felt his stomach churn with anger. How could she be so carefree? He decided she could enjoy her family because he had the burden of responsibility for them. They didn’t even share that. And his most crushing realization was that he would never be able to finish his novel; with three children, it was a ridiculous dream. The most he could hope for in terms of a writing career was a steady income from his articles.
Gradually his sales picked up and the terrifying pile of bills began to diminish. But his newfound peace of mind was short-lived. Perhaps it was God’s will, but in spite of her care, Lily found herself pregnant again, scarcely a year and a half after Randy’s birth.
This time there was no controlling Harry’s rage. “God damn it, Lily! How could you have allowed this to happen?”
“It wasn’t my fault, Harry. I was careful! You can’t blame me if it didn’t work.”
“Who am I supposed to blame? I know you, Lily,” he said in an accusing tone. “You weren’t willing to wait a few years, were you?”
“Willing? I didn’t plan this!”
“The hell you didn’t! You’d like to have a dozen kids. Well, I’m not a stud, and I don’t want to be a father anymore! I don’t want this baby.”
“But it’s ours, Harry!”
“I don’t want it.” Fists clenched, he stalked out of the room.
Hearing the door slam, Lily sat on the bed and gave way to tears. When he finally returned, Lily was in bed, pretending to be asleep. She heard him undressing in the dark and hoped that he would take her in his arms, but he eased onto his side of the mattress and turned his back on her.
The next eight months witnessed a growing rift between the Kohles. Since all the precautions Lily claimed to have taken had failed, Harry made up his mind that he was going to abstain from sex altogether. At this point, it was a little like locking the barn door after the horse had been stolen, but Harry was angry enough to carry out his threat. His fury abated only after the baby was born: a beautiful little girl they named Melissa. When they took her back to the farm he did his best to pretend she’d been a happy surprise; but even though he and Lily tried to act as if nothing had changed, there was a rift in the marriage neither could deny.
Lily was absorbed in the new baby, who bore an uncanny resemblance to her violet-eyed grandmother. In a burst of sentimentality, Lily asked Harry if she could take the children to see his parents. To make up for his unreasonable behavior during her pregnancy he acquiesced. Thus began a pattern of visits during which Harry stayed home and worked while Lily took the children in to see Elise and Benjamin. The adults maintained a formal chatter, all three careful never to touch upon Harry’s writing or the fact he never came. Still, Lily felt she was doing the right thing, and she noticed that on her return Harry did his best to spend more time with the children.
There was no question he was enchanted by his daughter, whose smiles could cheer him out of the darkest moods. Unfortunately for Harry, children do not always remain chubby, adorable, vulnerable little creatures who make a parent feel strong and protective. By the time Melissa began to walk, it seemed to Harry that the boys were becoming unruly hooligans. Jeremy was relatively docile, but Drew was a hellion, and Randy was almost as bad. Even dainty little Melissa had terrible tantrums. And whenever he attempted to discipline them, Lily protected them like a lioness defending her cubs.
Harry found it harder and harder to concentrate on his writing. For the third time in as many months they were forced to dip into the nest egg to pay bills. As the bills mounted up, Harry grew increasingly tense. Jeremy, who was starting school in the fall, needed clothes and shoes, and Harry knew it was only the beginning.
There were the constant doctor bills—Lily ran to the pediatrician at the first sneeze, and if one child came down with something, they all caught it.
Harry believed a man’s success was measured by the way he provided for his family, and each birthday became one more reminder that his chances of success were growing dimmer. Luxury be damned! He wasn’t even able to take out an insurance policy for his family. What would happen to them if he died? He shuddered to think about it. And he couldn’t forget that he had cost Lily her inheritance.
With all his anxieties, it was impossible for him to be the understanding, patient father he wanted to be. In the summer, when the children were out of doors most of the time, it was fairly tolerable. But in the winter the constant noise made it impossible to work at all. One day he reached the breaking point. He unlocked his door, jerked it open, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “God damn it, go to your rooms if you can’t be quiet!”
Lily quickly gathered the children up and took them into the kitchen. “Now children, Daddy needs a little peace and quiet. He can’t work with you screaming like that.”
Unused to being chastised, they started to protest. “We didn’t do anything, Mommy!”
As usual, Lily smiled and said, “I know you didn’t. How about if you play hide-and-seek in the attic? But first I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”
It worked for that day, but in spite of Lily’s best efforts, the scenes became daily occurrences. The children were simply not used to minding her, and their games invariably erupted into the hall outside Harry’s study.
What aggravated him most was that he was the one who always came off looking like the ogre.
One night he paced the floor till five in the morning, then lay down on the sofa in the study. Waking after a bare two hours’ sleep, he sat at the desk once again with a mug of strong black coffee. He had just begun a particularly important paragraph when Jeremy opened the door.
“Daddy, can you get my kite out of the tree now?” he asked hopefully.
Harry started, then, in a burst of fury, he caught the little boy by the arms and shook him so hard that his teeth rattled. At the sound of his cries, Lily leapt from her bed and rushed downstairs.
“Harry, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”
Suddenly Harry stopped. Good God, was he losing his mind? Jeremy had done nothing and now he was weeping, terrified, the red, angry marks on his upper arms beginning to show.
Lily picked up her son and rushed from the room. For the rest of the day, the house was unnaturally silent. Lily read to the children and played with them in the attic, bringing them homemade fudge, cookies, and milk to help keep them quiet.
Harry sat in his study, beset by guilt. His failures weighed him down. He was a bad father, an inadequate provider, and a man given to self-indulgent tantrums. He couldn’t forget the look on Lily’s face as she had taken Jeremy away. Here she was, struggling to create a home in this godforsaken place while he did nothing but complain. She said she loved him—but how long would she be able to live with him under these circumstances? His father’s words came back to haunt him: “You’ll see, Harry, how long love lasts without money.”
He felt as if his marriage was indeed bankrupt. He had already taken Lily’s chance at a brilliant marriage, her inheritance, her lovely youth. She had paid for their house, borne his children, worked like a charwoman, and he couldn’t even keep a civil tongue in his head. The time had come for him to face reality.
Harry rolled a blank sheet of paper into the Royal and typed, Dear Father, then sat wondering how to phrase his capitulation.
After the children had been put to bed, Lily came quietly into the study and seated herself in the worn leather chair. Life had not been easy, and just because she refrained from complaining didn’t mean she was immune to the hardships. Yet somehow it didn’t seem all that grim to Lily. She had taken their troubles in stride, happy with the life she had chosen. As long as she had Harry and her children, the rest of the worl
d could go hang. But she no longer could bear to see Harry so unhappy. She, too, had decided the time had come to face reality.
“Lily,” Harry said, “I cannot tell you how dreadful I—”
“Please,” she interrupted. “I think what we have to talk about is far more important than this morning’s scene. You may think that I’m oblivious to your frustrations, but I’m not. The truth is that this house is not quite the haven that I thought it was going to be for your writing. I hadn’t considered the effect of four active children.”
“Even so, I know I should be more patient. Still, it’s hard when you feel like a total failure. Is that honest enough, Lily?”
“You’re not a failure, Harry. I don’t want to hear you say that.”
“Yes, I am,” he returned grimly. “I just don’t have what it takes, or I wouldn’t be in this position.”
Gesturing at the paper in the typewriter, he said, “I’ve been sitting here thinking about what I’m going to say to my father. I’m giving in, Lily. I can’t go on letting my family suffer because of my arrogance.”
“You mean that you would abandon your writing?”
“Writing? What writing?” With a cynical laugh, he got up and paced the floor. “That was a child’s dream. This is the real world, Lily. I’ll never be able to write that book.”
“How do you know you won’t?”
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past six years? Sitting here, beating the hell out of this typewriter, and what do I earn? Five hundred dollars a month. As for the novel, when am I ever going to get to it?”
“Harry, please sit down and listen to me,” Lily said.
Reluctantly, he did as she asked.
“Darling, I’ve thought about this very carefully. I feel that the only way for you to get out of this trap is to be free to write your novel.” Harry began to protest, but Lily interrupted him. “No. Please hear me out. The only way we are going to be a happy family again is for you to finish that manuscript. That’s what’s creating the wall between you and me, and between you and the children.”
“Look, nobody has to tell me what I’ve turned into, and I’m terribly ashamed of it.”
“Forget about that. What’s holding you back are the pressures of having to support us.”
Harry rubbed his eyes. What alternative was there—he was the breadwinner. What good did it do to discuss it?
“I know that you worry about our finances,” Lily continued. “But worrying isn’t going to solve our problems. Let me ask you something: How long do you think it would take you to finish your novel if you were able to work on it constantly, without interruptions?”
“I don’t know, Lily. Maybe a year. I’ll never be able to do that.”
“That’s not true, Harry! I have a plan. I want you to go to New York, rent a room at the YMCA, and do nothing but write until that novel is finished.”
“Really? And what’s going to happen to you and the children in the meantime? How do you plan to eat? Or pay the taxes here, and feed the cow? The roof needs repairing again, and the car needs a new set of tires. There are a million expenses you’re probably not even aware of.”
There was a sting in his words, but Lily realized that this was a moment for truth.
“Darling, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but can you forget your ego for once?” she said gently. “The answer is for me to earn some money while you’re gone.”
“No—” he began, but Lily silenced him again.
“Will you just hear me out?”
“No, I won’t, Lily. Even if I did accept the idea that you were going to support me, what would you do? You don’t have a profession.”
“Strangely enough, Harry, I do.”
“And what is that, pray tell?”
“I’ve made every curtain in this house, and you’ve seen Melissa’s pinafores and dresses, and her rag dolls. And look at the pants and jackets I make for the boys. Do you realize that I made their entire wardrobes? We haven’t bought a thing. And wherever I go, people compliment me on their clothes.”
“So who do you think you are going to sell these clothes to, Lily? Bloomingdale’s?”
“There are all kinds of little shops that sell handmade things. And that’s what I plan to do—all I have to do is manage for a year until you finish that book. Don’t you see?”
Her faith in him was so touching that Harry was at a loss for words.
Finally, with tears in his eyes, he whispered, “Lily, how did I ever get so lucky?”
It was a last-minute reprieve. Here he had been ready to crawl back to his father when Lily offered him freedom to pursue his dream. His gratitude to her was inexpressible. Once again he realized that in spite of her fragile beauty she really was a woman of enormous strength.
Chapter 14
AT LILY’S INSISTENCE, HARRY made his preparations quickly. No delays, no procrastinations. Yet when the morning came for his departure, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his family. The memory of his cruelty to Jeremy and harshness with the other children tortured him. He prayed that his intolerance would leave no lasting scars. If he did nothing else in his life, he promised himself, from now on he was going to be a loving, patient, and doting father.
He was brought out of his reverie when Jeremy said, “Daddy, can I carry your suitcases out to the car?”
He looked down at the small handsome face. “Sure—come on, kids. We’ll do it together.”
It was painful to kiss them good-bye and then watch them wave from the platform, Lily standing like a fortress while the children clung to her.
“Take off those frowns and smile at Daddy, boys,” she directed, “and Melissa, throw Daddy a kiss.”
She started wailing, “Dada, Dada!” and stretched her hands toward the train.
The boys tried valiantly to smile. Daddy was going away for a long time, Mama had said so.
A tear rolled down Jeremy’s cheek and Lily put her arm around him. He was the sensitive one. “Darling, Daddy’s coming back. Throw him a kiss.”
He did so, and Harry saw it through gathering tears. Now, as the train rolled out into the distance and picked up speed, they grew smaller and then were lost from sight.
An enormous stab of loneliness assailed Harry; he felt as though he were abandoning them.
Yet this period of exile was so important. It was his last chance to become a writer. So much was riding on it. The only comfort he had was knowing that Lily did have the remainder of the little nest egg to draw on. But what it meant was that they were putting all their eggs in one basket—in Harry. If he didn’t make it, then what? He shuddered to think.
In spite of his guilty feelings and fear of inadequacy, he felt a strange sense of rising excitement at the prospect of New York. As the train neared Grand Central Terminal, another feeling superseded all his conflicting thoughts. He was a stranger, alone and alien in the very place where he had been born. After having been all but disowned by his family, he no longer felt that he had a home or roots.
He had seen his parents only a few times in the last six years. Once for the naming ceremony of each of the four children. But it was always stiff, formal, and awkward. Had it not been for the children, he doubted that they would have even met.
He allowed no hint of his longing to be revealed, but in his heart of hearts he kept hoping that they would embrace him as their son. Wouldn’t one think that they would admire him, if for no other reason than that he had never turned to them for any kind of financial assistance?
Hearing the screech of brakes as the train came to a halt, he came back to the moment. But it wasn’t until he walked off the train and into the swirling crowds that his spirits rose.
He picked up his suitcase and strode buoyantly out of the station into the July sun. He had planned to save the money and walk to the Y, but the noonday heat and the distance led him to the extravagance of hailing a cab.
Arriving at the 92nd Street Y, he looked around in disma
y. Although the aroma of chlorine and Lysol permeated the atmosphere, the place certainly did not give one the impression of being anything but moderately sanitary. He missed the homey charm of Lily’s antiques and bright chintzes. And the heat. God, it was stifling! He had forgotten how humid and sticky July in New York City could be. His shirt clung to him like a second skin. He willed himself to remember those winters on the farm when the snow spread out like a soft fleecy blanket….
That night he had dinner at a small café on the corner of 87th and Lexington, which he remembered from his student days. How strange it was—he had been richer then than he was now as a grown man. He had had a generous allowance; his Stutz Bearcat was always parked in front of Delmonico’s, where Benjamin Kohle’s son was always given a good table.
“What will you have, sir?” asked the waitress.
Harry was grateful to her for interrupting his train of thought.
A half-hour later he stood on the curb outside, feeling the hot night embrace him. He turned and began walking. After a while, he realized that he was on Fifth Avenue, aware of an urgent desire to see his old home, just to touch something real and familiar out of his past. It was strange, he was a grown man with a family of his own, yet he still had a great longing for the roots of his own childhood, to feel a sense of belonging.
His steps slowed as he came to the Frick mansion and he stopped in front of the wrought-iron railing enclosing the gardens. Smiling slightly, he recalled how more than once as a small boy he had been chased out of those gardens.
Then he walked up the broad stone stairs to the Kohles’ and rang the bell. Life was a barter, he thought. The day he had first brought Lily here, he had forfeited his right to a privileged life. The door was opened by the butler, Collins, who had been with the family for more years than anyone could remember.
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