The Trouble with Harriet

by Dorothy Cannell

  “Freddy must have gotten it.” Ben was handing Daddy his coffee when the telephone stopped ringing.

  “Yes, but ...” I headed for the door.

  “He’ll be back up in a jiff, Ellie, if it’s anything that he can’t take a message on.”

  “And in the meantime”—Daddy hoisted himself up on the pillows and took a sip, as if bravely endeavoring to follow doctor’s orders— “I will continue with the heart-wrenching story of my final days with Harriet.”

  “Yes, you must, if not immediately ... very soon.” I was swaying like a pendulum between the bed and the doorway when Freddy reappeared, looking glum.

  “That was the pater.”

  “Uncle Maurice?”

  “He’s the only father I’ve got, so far as I know.”

  “What did he have to say?” Ben eyed my cousin—his friend—with man-to-man concern.

  “Could I please have a decanter of brandy?” Freddy held out his hand, and when nothing found its way into it, he sagged against the chest of drawers. “I suppose I’ve got to be a man about this, but it’s not going to be easy.” His voice cracked. “To break it to you gently, my mother’s in a bad way.”

  “Dying?” Eyebrows going up in alarm, Ben handed over the decanter.

  “Oh, poor Aunt Lulu!” I whispered.

  “It’s not that”—Freddy dragged himself over to the bed and planted himself on Daddy’s feet— “although to hear the pater talk he’d much rather she was breathing her last. And I must say that the Mum has really done it this time.” Taking the stopper out of the decanter, he inhaled deeply. “She’s got mixed up in bad company. Big-time shoplifters, forgers, even a couple of train robbers.”

  “Wherever did she meet these people?” Ben and I asked as one.

  “At the rehab place where she had gone for the latest cure.”

  “Aunt Lulu’s a kleptomaniac,” I informed Daddy, who was trying to reclaim his feet.

  “That’s the problem with this modern age,” he rasped. “Every woman has to have a career.”

  “Uncle Maurice couldn’t have expected Aunt Lulu to stay at home changing nappies at nearly sixty,” I pointed out.

  “It was the pater’s idea to pack her off to Oaklands.” Freddy sounded understandably aggrieved. “And now he’s all het up because he walked in tonight on the mum hosting an aftercare group session in the sitting room. Apparently, such meetings are a strict requirement of being released into one’s own custody after finishing the program.”

  “Then I can’t see your father has anything to complain about,” Ben consoled him.

  “My thinking.” Freddy took another sniff of brandy. “But the pater gave me an earful about how Mum and her gang were talking about holding up the local Lloyds bank—Barclays or the Midland being out of the question because several of the group had deposits with them and they seemed to have a moral objection to stealing their own money.”

  Daddy shuddered. I was rather surprised he didn’t reach over to cover the urn’s ears.

  “What it comes down to,” Freddy continued bravely, “is that somehow this is all my fault. If I’d been a better son instead of a complete lughead, Mum would have found fulfillment bottling fruit or playing bridge. So now it’s time to pay the piper.”

  “Meaning?” Ben’s left eyebrow went up.

  “The pater is bringing Mum down here tomorrow, handcuffed to his wrist, no doubt, and she’s to live with me at the cottage—confined to the spare bedroom on a diet of bread and water—until I have drummed some sense in her head. I’m even expected to take her to church.” My favorite cousin looked at me with anguished eyes. “Ellie, I don’t know that I can stand it. Not with the new vicar spouting off about St. Ethelwort, or whatever the bloke’s name is, for hours on end. Mrs. Vicar’s all right. She did give me the lead in Murder Most Fowl. But if I start showing up at church like it’s opening time at the local, she’ll start thinking I’m just the one to marry her pie-faced niece Ruth. And it’s bad enough having to kiss the girl for art’s sake in the play.”

  My heart went out to him, although I reserved some pity for myself. Aunt Lulu, in addition to her talent for sleight of hand, was an accomplished escape artist and would doubtless show up at Merlin’s Court with increasing frequency as the days went by. And to think that tomorrow morning Ben and I should have been leaving for France! I was about to tell Freddy to look at the silver lining when my father embarked on the final chapter of Life with Harriet.

  Chapter 7

  “ ‘If I had my way,’ I told her tenderly, ‘I would shower you with summer days all our lives long. But as God did not put me in charge of the weather, you must tell me, sweetest of all Harriets, what I can do to complete your happiness.’

  “ ‘Darling, you can buy me another Edingerbier.’ She gave me one of her most mischievous smiles as she leaned across the table and tippy-toed her fingers across my hand. It was a sunny afternoon with just the right amount of breeze. She was wearing a frock that looked wonderful with the golden tan she had added to her charms during our weeks together. We were seated in the biergarten where we had first met. The old dog lay bathed in golden shadows in the doorway. The air was ripened to an intoxicating brew by the scent of oleander. And there was not a woman at any of the other tables who fulfilled the ideal of womanhood as did my Harriet.

  “I beckoned to the waitress—the same young girl with the plait down her back who had waited on us the first time. By now she knew us very well, was always full of smiles for the verlieben, as she called us, and within minutes she returned with a brimming stein that she set down at Harriet’s elbow.

  “ ‘You two together, so happy in your faces, it always makes my day go better.’ She stood wiping her hands on her white apron, her eyes pleased, like those of a child with a present to open. ‘I tell my Albert about you and say: “We must be like that when we are old. Our hearts must beat fast, and the songbirds must sing in our heads.” ‘

  “She went skipping off, and Harriet, taking note of my frown, laughed. ‘Darling Morley, I know you think of me as little more than a babe in arms, but the truth of the matter is that I am at the very least a middle-aged woman. To a girl as young as that, I must appear quite ancient. And perhaps it is time I made a few home improvements. Try a new shade of mascara, for instance.’

  “ ‘Don’t change a thing!’ My heart threatened to burst with emotion.

  “ ‘How very fierce of you!’ she cried, drawing back in her seat in mock terror.

  “ ‘Only because I adore you.’

  “ I know you do.’ Harriet’s hazel eyes darkened to brown as they gazed deep into mine. ‘I really believe that you would do anything in the world for me.’

  “ ‘I’d give you the moon on a star-studded platter.’

  “ ‘What I really want’—she spoke into the frosted stein—’is a promise.’

  “ ‘Anything!’

  “ ‘It has to be a solemn vow.’

  “ ‘You have it.’

  “ ‘Without even knowing what it is I ask?’

  “ ‘I only wish ...’ I could not hold back the sigh. ‘I only wish, my adored one, that it was my vow to honor you and keep you as my wife from this day forward.’

  “ ‘Morley, we’ve talked about all that. I thought you understood that I can’t marry you. Not now ... not until I am quite sure my illness won’t come back. I know I’m being irrational, but the fear doesn’t go away the moment you are told you’re cured. In a few months, perhaps, I’ll really believe it. Here ...’ Harriet pressed a hand to her heart. ‘Believe what my doctor has told me. That I am a walking miracle destined to live forever. And’—her mischievous smile reasserted itself—’they do tend to believe in miracles in these parts. It’s a cultural requirement, just like edelweiss and strudel and old men who look like Heidi’s grandfather. But just in case something befalls me, will you promise, Morley, to take me—my ashes, that is—back to England?’

  “ ‘My angel!’

  “
‘Darling, don’t rush me!’ She stroked my hand and sat biting her lip for a moment. ‘I’ve never thought of myself as sentimental, but then I’ve never had a brush with death before.’ She started to cry, her face working itself into a shape that was unfamiliar to me, so that I felt that I had already lost some essential part of her, or would if I didn’t bring her back from the brink of the infernal abyss.

  “ ‘Harriet, you have my solemn word that I will do as you ask.’

  “ ‘Thank you, Morley.’

  “ ‘But nothing is going to happen to you.’

  “ ‘No, of course it isn’t. I’m just being a woman, that’s all.’ She took a few token sips of beer and got to her feet. ‘Let’s go for one of our walks, darling. And you can tell me some more about your wonderful little family in England. After all,’ she said, gathering up her handbag, ‘if I am going to meet them one day, I ought to know all about their likes and dislikes.’

  “ ‘They couldn’t possibly dislike you.’ I placed the money on the table for our drinks and stood looking down at her with moist eyes.

  “ ‘Your daughter could resent me.’

  “ ‘Why ever would she? Giselle has her own life.’

  “ ‘She might not relish the idea of anyone taking her mother’s place, especially a total stranger.’ Harriet took my arm, and we went out into the street lined with Fachwerhoesen, those charming gabled houses with their multicolored, leaded windows. To the passersby, we probably looked like an ideally happy couple. And suddenly I was walking on air. An amazing feat for a man of my size.

  “ ‘My beloved,’ I said, gazing ardently at her exquisite profile, ‘may I take these foolish concerns as an indication that you will one day, in the not too distant future, relent and marry me?’

  “ ‘Darling Morley!’ She stopped in the middle of the pavement, placed her hands on my shoulders, and looked up at me with eyes darkened with incipient tears. ‘How I wish it could be that way! You and me adventuring on together, soaking up the sunshine, sharing life’s umbrella when it rains. It would be all I’ve never allowed myself to hope for. I always thought dreams were for other people—decent, honest, hardworking sorts who deserved to be rewarded for never putting a foot wrong.’

  “ ‘Foolish heart,’ I said, kissing her for every gawker to see. ‘There is no one more deserving of happiness than you, sweet Harriet.’

  “She drew breath for a shaky laugh. ‘Perhaps I should marry you. That might teach you not to be taken in by women with platinum-blond hair and a fondness for country walks.’ Tucking her hand into my elbow, she drew me on down the street, and by exercising all the restraint at my disposal, I mastered the passionate desire to press the matter further. Savor the moment, Morley, I told myself as we walked toward our favorite spot on the riverbank, where fir trees grew in shady clusters and red and white fairy toadstools nestled among the rocks. I thought, of course, that there would be many more such halcyon afternoons, as well as daffodil-yellow mornings and evenings of star-spangled enchantment.

  “ ‘But not tomorrow,’ Harriet said as we leaned against the moss-covered trunk of a weeping willow, watching a troop of ducks, led by a matriarchal figure, ease themselves into the umber waters and paddle off under the little stone bridge. Tomorrow I won’t be able to see you during the day because I have an appointment and I don’t know how much time it will take.’

  “ ‘With your doctor?’ The bird that had been serenading us for the last five minutes stopped in mid-trill, and the sun drifted behind a cloud that hadn’t been there a moment before.

  “ ‘No, darling. But it’s a secret, and I refuse to say another word about it. Oh, all right!’ She smoothed a gossamer finger across my troubled brow. ‘It’s a good secret; at least I hope you will really like it. Now,’ she said, looking up, ‘did I imagine that drop of rain that just fell on my head, or is it getting ready to pelt?’ A rumble of thunder answered her before I could. The weeping willow swayed like a fan in the hands of a swooning debutante. The sky turned to lead. And, alas, before you could say umbrella, we were in the midst of a downpour. And even though we were able to secure a taxi right away, we returned to my boardinghouse in a very damp state indeed.

  “Frau Grundman, that most congenial of landladies, quickly appeared with cups of cocoa. And handing Harriet a candlewick dressing gown, she urged her to take a hot bath down the hall. This kindness was followed by the offer to take her garments downstairs and put them in the clothes dryer. Meanwhile, I had difficulty controlling my agitation. I was convinced that my angel was about to catch her death of cold. When I told her so, she called me a silly. But when I returned from Frau Grundman’s kitchen, where I had borrowed a bottle of aspirin, I discovered to my anguish that Harriet’s eyes were already reddened. Naturally, I urged her to get into bed. I extolled the virtues of the down comforter, which Frau Grundman called a fetterbett. I filled a hot-water bottle from the electric kettle that I used for my morning tea. I even offered to read to her from the Oxford Book of English Verse while she settled down to sleep. Her favorite poem was ‘To Althea from Prison,’ the one about stone walls and iron bars and so on. She always adored the pathos I imparted to every noble syllable, the way my voice would rumble on the threshold of tears. But not this time. Today there would be no Richard Lovelace.

  “My adored one insisted that it was best for her to return to Glatzerstrasse in Loetzinn. She had promised her friends, the Voelkels, that she would spend the evening with them. She had seen so little of them recently and would be gone all day tomorrow. Again that reference to the surprise she had in store for me. But now I felt no inclination to press for details. My every thought was of profoundest concern for her well-being. Beg as I might, she would not take the hot bath so wisely suggested by the good Frau. It was as much as I could do to persuade Harriet to finish her cocoa. She was eager, as never before, to head down the narrow stairs into the street. Once on the pavement, I quickened my steps to match hers. It was no longer raining, but there was no saying that it might not start again at any moment. And even though I was carrying an umbrella, I felt powerless to protect her either from the elements or whatever fate had in store. I both hoped and dreaded that a taxi would come gliding to a stop as we reached the corner.

  “ ‘Darling, don’t look so worried.’ Harriet tucked her hand into my elbow as a couple of cars went splashing past. ‘I promise you I’m not going to catch pneumonia. Truly, I’m a lot tougher than you think. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been in such a rush to leave. But I really didn’t like to put Frau Grundman to all the bother of drying my clothes. I’ll be able to have a long laze in the bath when I get back to Loetzinn without worrying that I’m using up all the hot water.’

  “ ‘How can I help but worry, knowing how ill you’ve been.’ A passing lorry further muffled my voice.

  “ ‘Morley, you’re going to make yourself ill fretting about me.’ Harriet stepped off the curb to hail a taxi. It stopped within inches of her feet. Before I could move, she was inside and rolling down the window. Just a couple of inches so I couldn’t see her face as well as I wanted to. ‘Good-bye, darling, it’s been wonderful from start to finish. An absolutely perfect day, I mean. Now hurry back to Frau Grundman’s and have her make you some more cocoa.’

  “ ‘Harriet!’ I moved to press a hand to the glass, but she was already a blur moving off into traffic. As I trod disconsolately back to the boardinghouse, the rain came down again in stinging darts, and I continued on under the black canopy of the umbrella.

  “My bleak mood continued throughout what was left of the afternoon into the evening. Before turning in for the night, I partook of a glass of Frau Grundman’s homemade peppermint schnapps, and I woke in the morning feeling groggy and still out of sorts. My soul was further soured by the sunshine streaming through the window, for what was sunshine without Harriet? Oh, to have phoned her! But her hosts, the Voelkels, were not on the telephone. Harriet had explained early in our relationship that this was one of their eccentricit
ies and not to be weighed against their supreme generosity.

  “When the noon hour approached, I forced myself to take a constitutional through the town and even stopped at the bakery for a confection or two. Replete with flaky pastry and plump, juicy raisins, they rallied my spirits. I even ventured into a nearby cinema where I watched an American film that made me proud to be all things British. On this high note I returned to the boardinghouse, to be somewhat deflated on being informed by the kindly Frau that Harriet had not telephoned. My beloved had indicated that she was liable to be occupied for the better part of the day. Patience was called for, I told myself whilst tucking—somewhat languidly it must be said—into an early dinner of schweinerhaxe—pork with sauerkraut and dumplings. Frau Grundman’s repertoire was not extensive, but she was an excellent cook and very generous with the second helpings.

  “There were only a couple of other guests staying at the time. Both Japanese. Still, I lingered in the dining room at the conclusion of the meal to sip a glass of cherry brandy (it was not as good as the schnapps) and toss out the occasional, congenial snippet of conversation. My efforts appeared to be well received, if incompletely understood. A pity, for I recall mentioning that I had a daughter living in Chitterton Fells, a charming village by the sea in England, and I was sure that the Japanese gentlemen would be welcome to pay an extensive visit if ever they were in the neighborhood. One always wishes to take one’s ambassadorial duties seriously.

  “I reentered my room moderately restored. But as the evening dwindled from dusk to darkness, my heart grew heavy once more. Perhaps part of the blame may be laid upon the dumplings. But oh, how I repined for my absent Harriet. My ears strained for the sound of the phone. It did not ring that whole long night. I dreamed I heard it when I finally sank into the stupor of troubled sleep. Every couple of hours I would start up in my bed, but all was still and silent as the grave. At last dawn came and with it the renewed optimism that I was a fool. Harriet must have returned very late to Glatzerstrasse in Loetzinn. She would soon be with me, delighting my ears with all the details of her yesterday. When she had not arrived by midmorning I assured myself that she had slept late.