In the Great Green Room

by Amy Gary

  When preparing to leave for Maine that summer, she packed copies of her books so she could mine new songs from those pages. She also shipped fur pillows and a lion-skin rug that included a fang-bearing head up to the Only House. The previous year, she had hired a local contractor to build a small house on a rock outcropping at the edge of her property, and it was almost complete. Margaret wanted to give the little home to Michael but had little hope Michael would ever see it. Her old lover remained steadfast in her refusal to see Margaret.

  When Michael was on breaks from her tour, Margaret left the apartment to stay at Cobble Court or the Only House. Alternatively, Michael took up residence at the Colony Club. That summer, friends came and went, but Margaret wasn’t her usual self. She was brusque with Clem and Posey when they came to visit and often spent her days writing alone or working on the new house she planned to give to Michael.

  She was still friends with Bill Gaston, but their love affair was over. He and his boys visited regularly, but her nights were spent alone. The sound of her pencil scratching on paper, the wind outside, and the crackling fire were often the only things she heard except the chatter in her head. She was too sentimental, she decided. And still overweight. It was time to cut out sugar, fat, and starch from her diet. She limited herself to only half a bottle of wine each evening.

  She kept busy converting the new house into a writing studio. She had a window added to the back of the house, framed like a picture. It showcased the forest like a live painting. She painted the exterior of the house but miscalculated how much paint the job would entail. There was only a smidgeon of paint remaining and a whole wall left to cover, so she used the last of it to paint the same fish her sister had drawn years before for the cover of Margaret’s The Fish with the Deep Sea Smile right onto the bare wall.

  The cottage was charming and airy, even though it was small. Margaret had a great deal of work to finish that summer. In addition to writing books, she recorded the melodies of her latest songs and sample radio shows on a wire recorder she kept in the house. She was working on two articles about writing for children, and both were due soon. The first was for Hollins’s alumnae magazine and the other for Grolier’s Book of Knowledge. The Grolier’s series was the very one that had lined her shelves as a child. Margaret’s parents had revered the books, and she knew her father would be proud of his daughter for contributing that piece. He could no longer doubt that Margaret had lived up to the standards of his illustrious family. She hadn’t fought in wars or argued on the floor of Congress, but she was leaving her mark as her ancestors had before her. She was no longer just a writer of silly stories and songs. She was an expert on how to write children’s literature. The Book of Knowledge would say it was so.

  When Margaret was hired to write a monthly children’s page for Good Housekeeping magazine, her name became more widely known to the public. The magazine introduced Margaret to its readers as a modern, pretty woman who happened to craft her works in a fairy-tale hideaway. The editor painted a perfect picture of Cobble Court as a little house aglow by firelight and ruby-red kerosene lamps—exactly the type of place from which children’s stories should come.

  She also was asked to submit a menu to be included in The American Woman’s Cook Book, along with other notable women, such as Mrs. Calvin Coolidge and Lillian Hellman. Margaret’s menu for a “Lunch under the Apple Trees” featured a recipe for root soup to be served with a salad of umbrella mushrooms and sliced avocados.

  The tumultuous relationship with Michael had strained Margaret terribly. On top of that, Margaret would have to find somewhere to live away from Michael, who was on tour until the end of the year. Cobble Court was uninsulated and too cold for New York’s winters. Likewise, it would have been impossible to survive the brutally frigid Maine temperatures at the Only House in winter, so she would have to find an apartment when Michael returned.

  She distracted herself by staying busy with her writing. She had eight other books in the works for five different publishers. She recently had an article published on how to select the proper book for a child. In it, she encouraged parents to find stories told in simple words about familiar things. The color of the sky, the feel of rain, even tables and telephones might be commonplace to parents, but to children, everything in the world is new and wildly exciting. She believed frightening fairy tales should be avoided for younger children who had yet to learn what is real and what is not. To them, a witch or goblin is as real as a horse or chicken. Older children, depending on their environment, understood the difference between fantasy and reality; they could enjoy those stories without harmful results. It was important for children to find the fun and adventure in folktales and legends since they were based in nature and were often a window into human nature. Word patterns, rhymes, and rhythms were also something she suggested parents look for in a book because they mimicked children’s playful language. Sudden changes and sharp contrasts in sound kept their attention, and it delighted them to hear a cat meow or a train go pocketa-pocketa-pocketa. Stories should be short—no more than ten or fifteen minutes—unless the readers involved the children in the stories through questions, which gave them a chance to be part of the narratives. Margaret explained that the purpose of books for young children was not so much to educate them as to echo their laughter and sadness, to capture the reality of the world they loved. Children were sensitive to subtle overtones and rhythms and eager to hear them reflected in stories, songs, and poems. She believed that unless parents encouraged those senses, they became blunted by the age of five. Literature gave them back their own world and kept the keenness of their senses alive.

  Margaret’s circle of publishing friends had dwindled. Leonard was busy with his new wife and the Hurds with their young son, Thacher. Margaret was spending more time with composers than illustrators, editors, or book publishers these days. She no longer went to Bank Street to test her material. Margaret used her neighbor’s boys and her goddaughter, Laurel, as her guinea pigs.

  * * *

  When she was asked to write a version of the Christmas story for one of her publishers, she went to visit Dot. Margaret had no idea what animals did at night in a barn, so in Bank Street fashion, she wanted to observe their nocturnal activities firsthand.

  Dot’s barn was sturdy enough to keep Margaret from freezing, although it was a cold November night in Connecticut. Dot bundled Margaret up in a huge raccoon fur coat and made a comfy nest of blankets and sweet-smelling clover hay in one of the stalls. The Ripleys’ herd of fawn-colored Swiss cattle curiously sniffed their new barn mate as night settled in. Two cats slept next to Margaret’s head, but their purrs didn’t drown out the constant digestive noises of the cows or the loud urination of the horses that made her dream of Niagara Falls.

  Around five in the morning, the barn manager came in to feed and water the animals. He proceeded to stick a pitchfork in the stack of hay. A surprised and fur-draped Margaret leaped up. The man was startled, terrified that he had roused the biggest raccoon ever. It took a round of coffee and shots of whiskey to calm both of them down.

  The night in the barn gave Margaret half a dozen other ideas. The sounds of barnyard animals might make a good piece for Good Housekeeping. She wrote a song for Young People’s Records and a barn story for Golden. There were so many possibilities; everything was a discovery to a toddler, and almost every discovery could be turned into a book, poem, or song. Dot telegrammed, wrote, or called to share what Laurel and her new baby, Louis, said or did, and Margaret documented their lives as if they were the subject for one of Lucy’s textbooks.

  Through Dot’s life, Margaret witnessed motherhood firsthand. Margaret watched Dot open her children to the world around them in the day and comfort them at bedtime. She loved how every day was different but reassuringly the same. Wake, tend to the cattle, ride horses, play with the dogs, bathe, and go to bed. Days were simple and slow. Margaret pondered how this might have been her own life if she had married George Armistea
d so many years ago. She wondered if she would have been happier with a husband and children. Her books were her legacy. They felt like her children. She had an enviable life, but the fear of what was next was never far from the front of her mind, especially after Michael had ordered her to find a new place to live.

  * * *

  As Christmas approached, a musical version of Margaret’s book The Little Brass Band was being performed by the New York Philharmonic at Carnegie Hall. To a sellout crowd of children and parents, Santa Claus used a huge thermometer to register how well they all sang along to “Silent Night.” Margaret sat in the audience in a new wool suit she bought especially for this occasion. She longed to share this moment with Michael, but it had been almost three months since they had last seen or spoken to each other. They did, though, continue to exchange letters.

  It was clear from Michael’s last letter that she was pessimistic about her chances for recovery. She had received a blood transfusion that she hoped would send her illness into remission, but instead, it had made her feel even weaker. Another letter arrived asking Margaret to help settle her estate if she were to die. Michael still wanted to keep her distance from Margaret, but knew she would do as Michael asked, so she sent a letter of instructions for Margaret to follow if “a refrigerator suddenly fell on her head.” She didn’t trust Diana or anyone else to follow her requests. She specified how to claim her insurance policy’s proceeds and how her furniture and jewelry should be distributed. Anything not specifically covered was to be split between Margaret and Diana. She also warned that the cleaning out of her apartment shouldn’t be left to her daughter-in-law because she hated to throw things away.

  Michael concluded that burying Robin in Indiana had been a hastily made decision. Mother and son should be buried next to each other as they originally planned, she said. Being away from him in death frightened her, so she asked that his body be exhumed and transferred to the family plot in the Bronx. She asked Margaret to make certain that request was followed.

  Michael’s last stop on her Great Words with Great Music tour for the year was at Times Hall in New York. This venue was the smallest of Broadway’s theaters and held only around five hundred people. Even so, the ticket sales to the show were slow, so the house would be almost empty that night. Margaret bought a block of empty seats and distributed them to her friends, hoping to fill the house.

  Backstage, she left a vase of camellias and a note in Michael’s dressing room. She also left her keys to the Connecticut house. In the note, she apologized for not yet having found a new place to live, and she promised to move from their apartments as soon as the weather warmed. Michael sent a response by messenger, thanking Margaret for the flowers and promising to call the next day. She reiterated that their relationship was stealing the little amount of energy she had and asked Margaret to refrain from contacting her. If she could do that, then perhaps they could have a relationship in the future.

  Margaret succeeded in getting a larger audience into Times Hall, although the venue was far from full. When an emaciated Michael walked out in her white Grecian gown, a gasp from Diana could be heard in the audience. She had not seen her mother for almost four months and was shocked by her appearance. Two hands could easily fit around her waist. Her face was desperately thin, and her skin was sickly white. It was clear to everyone in that little theater that the woman onstage didn’t have long to live.

  Margaret was not part of the audience that evening. Michael’s doctor had called Margaret on Michael’s behalf and explained that his patient was under a great deal of stress already and that being around Margaret compounded her anxiety. It was best for Michael for Margaret to stay away from the theater that night.

  Nineteen

  1950

  I will light one cigarette

  And when it is ended I will go

  I will not smoke it fast

  Or slow

  Just in the way of everyday

  I look at you and your

  Familiar changing face

  I see the moment ended

  In this familiar room

  From which I will go

  With the grey curls of cigarette smoke

  Rising slowly

  To linger a little longer

  On the air

  “THE END”

  White Freesias

  Michael disappeared after her show, and Margaret had no idea where she was. When her mail piled up at the apartment, Margaret hounded Diana, trying to find out where Michael was. At first, Diana refused to tell Margaret. She didn’t want to cross her mother, who was in Switzerland receiving an experimental form of treatment for her leukemia. Doctors at the Hirslanden Clinic in Lausanne disagreed with Michael’s initial diagnosis of acute leukemia. Instead, they confirmed she had chronic leukemia, and if it went into remission, then her life could be extended by a few more years. They told her, however, that she had arrived not at the eleventh hour or the twelfth, but at half past twelve. She might have arrived too late for the treatments to work.

  Blood transfusions, daily injections of vitamins, and x-rays made Michael feel better. A former acquaintance of Robin’s, who was a professional male escort, tagged along to help Michael with whatever she needed. When Diana found out he had helped Michael spend her limited dollars on flowers, limousine rides, and private chefs, she was outraged. At Michael’s request, he also had bought matching suits for them to wear on walks around the clinic grounds. Michael was almost out of money, and to waste it on useless treatments, flowers, and car rides was more than Diana could bear. She convinced her mother to call Margaret.

  On Valentine’s Day, Margaret sat in her bed with her big red comforter, looking over the river as snow fell on the city. She was relieved to have heard Michael’s voice on the phone and thrilled to be exchanging loving letters once more instead of nasty telegrams. She wanted to be by Michael’s side while there was still time and made plans to visit her at the clinic. Both were hopeful Michael’s renewed vigor meant the illness was in remission. Margaret conferred with Michael’s doctor in New York about follow-up treatments. Remission meant a second chance, and Margaret wasn’t going to let her pride lead her into any more arguments with Michael. She was eager to have Michael back at home where she could take care of her.

  A few days later, Margaret checked into her hotel in Lausanne, and a letter from Michael was waiting. It said that Michael’s doctor was ordering Margaret to stay away because their relationship was a source of strain for Michael. If they were to achieve remission, all stress must be eliminated.

  Margaret was crushed, but she responded with calm and kindness. She said she would do anything to help Michael get well, including staying away. Her only desire was for Michael to get well.

  Margaret stayed on in Switzerland for a few days in the hope Michael would change her mind. When she didn’t, Margaret got on a train to visit Garth Williams in Italy. Garth had moved back to Rome, where he had studied art years before. He and Margaret were working on Fox Eyes, a manuscript of Margaret’s that had not yet found a publisher. She loved his illustrations for the book and was sure she would eventually find someone to produce the book.

  While on board the train to Rome, a man sitting in the same compartment as Margaret placed chloroform over her face. When she woke, she had been robbed, although the thief fortunately left her journal and manuscripts behind.

  Her luck didn’t improve on her return home to the United States. Publishers Weekly announced that The Quiet Noisy Book was to be published by Harper. The idea she and Leonard Weisgard had years before to blend story, sound, and images in The Noisy Book had been a huge success. Four more stories featuring the little dog Muffin had been published, and contractually, it was clear that the rights to the series belonged to W. R. Scott. When Bill Scott read that the next book in the series was being produced without his consent, he promptly sued Margaret and Harper.

  It had been Margaret’s understanding that her publishing relationship with Scott wa
s over. She had told Bill months earlier that she would no longer send him manuscripts when he failed to print her last book in four colors as he had promised. He completely ruined her last two books on press by using an inferior printer. She had tried to help him, but his reluctance to move to modern presses placed his house at a competitive disadvantage. That directly affected Margaret’s royalty earnings, so she really could not afford to let him have any further manuscripts. In her mind, it had been an agreeable parting of the ways.

  Bill might not have the opportunity to publish new books by Margaret, but that didn’t mean he would let a competitor take over his bestselling series. He was going to hold Margaret to her contract even if it meant a legal battle.

  She was infuriated. She was still hurt by the Publishers Weekly feature and bitter that Bill had taken credit for her ideas. She dashed off an angry letter to him. She could not believe this was how he was reacting after all she had done for him over the years. She had given up royalties on books that were still earning money for him. She had brought him the best illustrators in the business. She had promoted his company in every interview. Yet he didn’t even respond to a letter she recently wrote about an underpayment. She was shocked he was suing her after stealing her ideas and taking credit for her work. Therefore, she counted her friendship with him as bad judgment and his friendship with her as hogwash.

  She asked Harriet Pilpel to countersue on the basis that Scott repeatedly violated their contracts. She wanted retroactive payments on verbal agreements Bill had made with her. She also wanted to file a legal complaint with the Writers Guild and get them to review Scott’s royalty payments for discrepancies.

  Harriet knew Margaret’s legal stance was weak. It was in Margaret’s best interest to stay on Bill’s good side and settle this amicably. She talked Margaret out of sending the poisonous letter. Harriet also was Michael’s lawyer and knew she didn’t have long to live. There had been no remission, so Michael returned to the apartments at East End. A lawsuit would be costly and emotionally draining at a time when Margaret was overworked and exhausted. It was time for Margaret to make peace with her former boss.