Pot of gold : a novel

by Michael, Judith

  "Don't you have children of your own.-^" asked Emma.

  "I never married, you see."

  "Because you didn't want to.''"

  "Because it didn't happen," Hannah said quietly. "But I taught, and that gave me a chance to be useful, to be a part of other people's lives. I like that; I do like helping people; it really is what I do best."

  Claire met Emma's eyes and saw that Emma would be no help in sending Hannah away. The three of them sat at the table, and the silence stretched out.

  "I could help vou move," Hannah said when the silence be-

  came unbearable. "You will be moving, won't you? To a larger apartment? Or a house?"

  "We just bought a house," Emma said. "The most beautiful house in the world."

  "Oh, wonderful," Hannah said. "A large house?"

  "Huge," said Emma.

  Hannah looked at her and then at Claire. Her eyes were bright, but her mouth trembled a little. She squared her shoulders. "Well, then, there's a lot of work to be done. I can't wait to see it; it's so exciting to take an emprv' house and make it your very own. I did that once, for a while, interior design, you know, making houses beautiful and livable, not just four walls and a bare floor. And I want to help shop for kitchen supplies, Claire; I'm considered a very good cook."

  "Really?" Emma said. "Mother never liked to cook."

  "How could she, after working all day?" Hannah asked. "Good cooking takes time and energy and creativity; it's too much to ask anyone to do it after a long day at work; to do it well is definitely a full-time job."

  What a kind way to put it, Claire thought, and her anger and irritation faded a little. But she isn't going to live with us, she thought; that's impossible. We're fine by ourselves, and we'll furnish our house by ourselves and live there by ourselves.

  She glanced at Emma, who was listening to Hannah talk about a kitchen she had once designed. Emma's face was absorbed, like that of a child listening to a storyteller. She likes her, Claire thought. Both of us like her. She's a stranger who walked in here like all the other strangers . . .

  But she wasn't like all the other strangers. Emma liked her. And there was something more: Emma trusted her. And so do I, Claire thought.

  But that doesn't mean we have to take her in.

  No, but she has no other place to live.

  That isn't our problem.

  But wasn't it a relief when she got rid of those people who stampeded their way in here?

  Yes, and I believe she would do that again and again, and as many times as she had to. She would take care of us.

  Claire thought of that with surprise. She would take care of us. There was something about Hannah that made her sure of that.

  "Is that what you did in Philadelphia?" Emma asked. "You were a cook?"

  Hannah stole a glance at her suitcase, still standing just inside the front door, unopened. She had been glancing at it frequently, hoping Claire and Emma would get the point and let her take it into the bedroom. She longed to unpack. One was never sure of staying until one had unpacked. But they kept her talking. "No, I only cooked for friends," she said. "They're all gone now: moved to warmer places or died. Sometimes both."

  "And you designed their houses, too?" Emma asked.

  Claire watched Hannah answer. She was beginning to seem interesting. She had an odd, formal way of speaking, her words as precise as small stepping-stones marching to the end of each sentence, and there was a kind of cadence to her speech, too, that was almost mesmerizing, as if she were telling a story. And she seemed to have a great many useful skills.

  The door opened. "Oh, now, really," Hannah said in exasperation, and jumped up.

  "Good afternoon, the door was open," said a bearded man. Two women and a young boy followed him in. "My name is Carter Morton, and I need to talk to Claire Goddard about a story in the Norwalk Crier.'"

  "That's enough," Hannah said. She grasped the man's arm and began to turn him toward the door. "You're well-dressed and well-spoken; you ought to know enough not to barge in on a family—"

  "One minute!" he said desperately, "that's all I ask." His gaze settled on Claire, he planted his feet and began to speak so rapidly they could barely make out his words. "I thought, with your good fortune, you might help us. You see, my boy needs medical treatment—this is my boy, Alan, and my wife, Fat, and my sister, Beth—and I lost my job a few months ago and my insurance went with it. The doctors say Alan has a good chance if he starts treatment right away, but it's very specialized and very expensive, and we thought we had no chance at all until we read about you, and so we came here because—"

  "Vc didn't want to ask," Pat Morton said, her voice low and strained, her words tumbling out as rapidly as her husband's. "We don't beg, we've never had to, but he's only nine, and no one will

  loan us money and our savings are almost gone, and"—her voice broke—"we don't know what to do."

  "What's wrong with him?" Hannah asked.

  "He has leukemia. But childhood leukemia has a high cure rate, if you get it early and treat it properly."

  "Where would you go.-^" Claire asked.

  "Boston. That's where our doctor sent us. And the doctors there said we have a good chance; they told us that Alan has a life ahead of him. We all believe that. We do believe it. And we'll do whatever it takes to give that to him. We'll give him a life!"

  Claire met Hannah's eyes. Hannah gave a tiny nod. "How much do you need.^" Claire asked.

  "We don't know," Carter Morton replied. "The doctors say, with all the treatments, it could be a hundred thousand dollars. Maybe more. Of course it would only be a loan, until I get another job and get back on my feet again, but I can't say how long it would take to pay it back. I haven't even got collateral or anything. Nothing but my word that I'd do my damnedest to pay back every penny, with whatever interest you set, however much it costs."

  "We won't worry about collateral," Claire said, feeling confident because of Hannah's nod. "Or when you pay it back. Have the hospital send the bills to me."

  Morton stared at her. "You'll do it.^"

  "Of course we'll do it," Hannah said energetically. "Now you write down your name and address and telephone number for us, and then you be off. You've done what you came for. Anyway, you have to get ready to go to Boston."

  Claire and Emma exchanged a glance as Hannah took over. Emma started to say something, but Claire shook her head. Something had changed in the room; Hannah had become a part of them. It no longer seemed outrageous to Claire that she would live with them. Why not.^ Claire thought. A relative who cares about us, who seems to want to take care of us . . . why not.^ And I relied on her; when she nodded, she gave me approval to say yes this time, instead of no.

  The young boy walked up to Claire. "Thank you very much," he said solemnly. "I'll do everything the doctors tell me, so maybe it won't take so long and cost so much. And I'll try to make you proud of me."

  "Oh, my," said Hannah.

  Tears pricked Claire's eyes. She had so much, and they had so httle. And Emma had never been seriously ill; Claire had never known a moment of fear for her life or her well-being. Fm remaking my whole life with everything I could possibly want, and they're just trying to save what they have. She put her arms around the boy and held his wiry body close. "We're proud of you already," she said. "I hope you'll call once in a while and let us know how you're doing."

  "Sure. It'll probably be awfully boring, but if that's what you want . . . sure." He rejoined his family and stood straight and silent while his father wrote on the back of an envelope.

  "I don't know how to thank you," Pat Morton said. "You've given us a life, too."

  "Hi, I've come to greet the famous Claire Goddard . . . oh, sorry, I'm interrupting."

  "Come on in, Gina," said Emma. "It's the thing to do."

  "Thank you," said Carter Morton. "We can't ever thank you enough. I'll let you know when I get a new job and I'll make sure my boy calls; we won't forget. I promise, you won'
t ever regret—"

  "Be off!" said Hannah, shooing them out. "We'll pray for you. And you can write to us, you know, instead of calling; it's a lot cheaper." She watched them leave, then closed the door behind them.

  "It's amazing how crowded this room gets with a few people in it," Gina said. She hugged Claire and Emma and dropped her jacket on a chair. "We haven't met," she said, holding out her hand to Hannah. "Gina Sawyer."

  "Hannah Goddard. I'm glad to meet you. You're a good friend of Claire's.''"

  "The best." Gina paused. "Have wc met before.'"'

  "No, but I hope we'll be friends." Hannah smiled.

  "Okay," Gina said, amused. She always believed in letting people make their own introductions and give their own explanations. She turned to Emma. "What's the thing to do.''"

  "Oh, wander in and out of our living room," Emma said. "Mother bought you the most beautiful presents."

  "Really.'' You made mc part of your shopping spree.''"

  Claire brought two gold boxes embossed with Simone's from the bedroom.

  "Simone's," Gina said in wonder. "How about that. There's a reason to win the lottery; you get to go to Simone's. And I get Simone presents; just as good." She opened the two boxes and drew in her breath. "Hey," she said softly. She held up the deep red cashmere sweater and matching fringed scarf. "Spectacular. My color. And my first ever cashmere sweater. Claire, I love you. Oh, it is spectacular." In one swift movement she pulled off the sweatshirt she wore, then, more slowly, she pulled on the sweater. She flung the scarf over her shoulder and turned in place. "What do you think.^"

  "Very, very good," said Hannah. "You look very dramatic, very Shakespearean. I hope you wear it to a dramatic event." Gina looked at her consideringly. "Do you live around here.^" "I will," said Hannah with a bright smile. "I'm Claire's aunt." "Aunt.''" asked Claire. "I thought you said you were either my aunt or my cousin."

  "I believe I'd rather be an aunt. It sounds better for someone who's about to be seventy-five years old, especially someone who tends to meddle in other people's business. Anyway, I like being an aunt. Unless you have an objection."

  "Of course not. You can be anything you want." "Well, what / am right now," said Gina, "is unemployed." "Did you quit.''" Emma asked. "I thought you liked it." "I did like it, and I didn't quit. I went down with the ship. They went out of business, just like that; in the morning everything was fine, and then about two o'clock they called us all in and said they couldn't make a go of it and they were closing down. That's happening to so many small companies these days." She gave a short laugh. "All the ones I'd be going to, to find another job. It's not like a secretary, you know; they always find work. But lab technicians need a lab and there aren't so many of those around right now."

  "So what will you do.''" Emma asked.

  "Oh, scrape along for a while. With unemployment and what I've got put away, I can go for a few months, while I send out a few hundred resumes. After that, who knows.''"

  "Well, you don't have to worry about money," Claire said. "That's another good thing about winning the lottery; there's plenty for everybody. Are you sure you don't need any right

  now?" She saw a strange look, almost of distaste, sweep across Gina's face. "What's wrong?"

  "I think I ought to see if I can get along on my own before I start sponging," Gina said lightly.

  ''Sponging? Gina, it's not sponging to take money when you need it from somebody who's practically family,"

  "Maybe not, but I just want to wait awhile and see what I can come up with on my own. But you're lovely to offer, Claire, and if things get really bad, I'll take you up on it."

  "It wasn't meant as an insult," Claire said stubbornly, refusing to let it go.

  "I know that. You're too nice to insult anybody. But, it's odd, you know, Claire, all of a sudden you've gotten awfully casual about money. Like you've already forgotten what it's like not to have any. I'm not a big expert in this, but I've sort of noticed that people who have plenty of money are the only ones who are casual about it; the rest of us are always sort of zeroed in on it, thinking about it, worrying about it, you know, and we get prickly when somebody pulls that laid-back, 'Oh, take a few hundred or thousand or whatever and don't give it a thought.' Do you know what I mean?"

  Claire was frowning. "You think I've changed."

  "Well, not basically; you're still the Claire we know and love. You're just starting to have different ideas about money, is all."

  "But I don't feel that I'm better than anyone else, because I have money."

  "No, of course you don't; you wouldn't, though a lot of rich people do. It's just that you . . . oh, what the hell, I don't know how to say it."

  "It's a way of thinking," Hannah said. "When you don't have much, you think about yourself in a certain way, working, earning, saving if you can. But as soon as you have money, you start thinking about yourself as someone who spends, and that makes a huge difference. It means that you feel differently about who you are. It's much more than the things you can buy; it's how you walk through the world and feel you belong evervwhere, instead of just perched in a small corner of it."

  "I like that," Gina said. "That's very good. Is that from experience?"

  "Oh, I know a little about money." Hannah stood up and

  started to walk toward her suitcase, afraid the moment might never come for her to unpack and settle in. But just then the telephone rang and she detoured to answer it. "Oh, no," she said sadly after a moment. "I never invest in oil wells I haven't personally inspected. That may sound eccentric, but, then, I'm a very eccentric person." She hung up and turned to Claire. "I thought you wouldn't mind a little meddling there, or my pretending to be you."

  "That wasn't meddling; that was coming to the rescue," said Claire. "I don't know the first thing about investing in oil wells. Thank you."

  "Very smooth," Gina said admiringly. "Is that from experience, too,^"

  The telephone rang again and once again Hannah swooped down on it. "Yes. . . . No, our telephone is working just fine. Well, it's been busy because people keep calling and . . . oh, wait, I just had a thought. We should have an unlisted number. Could you set that up right away.'"'

  "Hannah, just a minute," Claire said sharply.

  Hannah looked up. "Don't you think it's a good idea.^ Why should all these strangers know where you live and be able to invade your house, in person or on the phone, and you don't even know who they are.''"

  "It sounds good to me," Gina said.

  "But when our friends want to call, they won't know our number," Emma said.

  "You have little cards printed and you send them to your friends," Hannah said. "And call up your special friends and tell them. People do it all the time, especially people in the public eye. Claire.'' What do you think.-^"

  Claire and Emma exchanged another glance. She keeps taking over. But then Claire nodded. She had had the idea herself, a while ago, but she hadn't done anything about it. What was the harm in letting Hannah do it now.'' "Fine," she said. "Thank you, Hannah."

  Hannah beamed and turned back to the telephone.

  "She's a tiger," Gina said. "Do you think she'll need a leash after a while.^"

  Claire laughed. "She might. But then again, I could get used to having someone take care of all the little details. I just hope

  there aren't a lot of other relatives running around who decide to descend on us."

  "Are we going to have servants in our new house?" Emma asked.

  "Servants!" Gina exclaimed. "Didn't they go out with the last century.'"'

  Emma flushed. "I mean, maids and cooks and things."

  "I don't know," Claire said. "I haven't thought about it."

  "Not a bad idea," Gina said. "Why shouldn't you take it easy.''

  "That's done," Hannah said, rejoining them. "They wouldn't give me the new numbers until we do all the paperwork, but I did tell them we wanted two lines; it's so much more convenient." She gazed at the bemused look on Claire'
s face. "I'm going to unpack; it won't take long, but I should get it out of the way. And then we should think about tomorrow. We have furniture to buy, and the kitchen to plan. ... I have so many ideas for a really professional kitchen. And then"—she tilted her head and contemplated Claire—"I think, my dear, you need a haircut."

  "Mother cuts her own hair," Emma said.

  "And very nicely, too," Hannah said. "But I think the time has come to make some changes."

  Again, Claire felt a flash of annoyance. She had not had a mother since she was in high school, when her parents had died within a year of each other, and she had long ago stopped wishing for one. Now here was Hannah, moving in, taking over, by turns irritating, useful, and overwhelming. "Where do you think I should go for a haircut.^" she asked coolly.

  Hannah raised her eyebrows. "I have no idea; I'm a stranger to Danbury. Why don't we ask someone for a recommendation.^"

  "Simone!" Gina cried. "Claire, it's a great idea; I think you should do it. Ask Simone; she'll know the perfect place. It's time you had something dramatic done to you."

  "You don't think sixty million dollars is dramatic enough.^" Claire asked wrs'ly.

  "It's only a beginning," Hannah said. "Of course it's an excellent beginning, but by itself money doesn't do a thing; it's how cleverly you use it. You could bank it all, but then you'd have nothing but security. And security is wonderful, I'm an ardent believer in security, but vou and Emma must have adventures.

  Claire. And we're going to start with a haircut. The first step to bigger and better adventures, whatever they may be. But right now I am going to unpack my suitcase. The question is . . ."