“I’ve started a new novel,”she suddenly announces.
“That’s good.It’s great.I’m really glad.”
“You are?”
“Ofcourse I am.”
“Yes, well, we’ll see.But it does seem that connubial bliss was interfering with my creativity.Ever since…youknow, the big confession, I’ve really felt inspired.And this book—well, I don’t even want to talk about it.I don’t want to jinx it.It could all disappear.I could spend the rest ofmy life just writing articles.”
“I’m really glad,”Daniel says.“Are you almost ready?”
“Ruby?”she asks, still gazing at him in the mirror.
”I think she’s all set.I’ll go check.”
Except for not loving Kate, Daniel has been a model partner since his confession in the hotel room two weeks ago.No socks on the floor, im-peccable table manners, he has even purchased over the Internet some spray he squirts on the back ofhis throat at night, which has virtually eliminated his snoring.The respect he shows for her sleep is boundless.
Not only has the snoring stopped, but he no longer tugs at the blanket, and when he rolls over nothing ofhim so much as grazes her, she cannot even feel his breathing, he has less presence than the dead, and in the mornings he is quieter than the rising sun when he slips out ofbed to mind Ruby and get her offto school.Yet he is not entirely cold, not like someone who is furious, or who wishes to punish you.Ifshe rolls next to him in bed, he is accepting.Ifshe presses herselfagainst him he gathers her in.Ifshe kisses him, he kisses her back.Ifshe wants to fuck, he fucks.
He is entirely at her disposal.Her every wish, it seems, is…no, not his command, but his opportunity to commit some further act ofpenance.
”Got me one ofdem penitent boyfriends,”Kate said to Lorraine over the telephone the other day.“Dem’s the best kind,”answered Lorraine.
Daniel finds Ruby in her room, brushing the bright-yellow hair ofa chubby-faced doll with a pug nose, a prissy mouth, and blue, unforgiv-ing eyes.Neither Daniel nor Kate would have bought such a toy for Ruby—they would rather supply her with little cars, plastic horses, building blocks, books—but she’d fallen under the doll’s spell at day care and the teachers let her take it home.“Are you about ready, Monkey?”
Daniel asks.He feels so guilty around Ruby that he has made his voice overly cheerful.
“I want to play with Ginkie,”Ruby says.She turns the doll around on her lap, gazes into its bright blue eyes.
“You can bring Ginkie with you, ifyou want.”
“No.She can’t go out.”Ruby has long contended that the doll is afraid to leave the house—it seems part ofa strategy to make certain that it never gets returned to the day care center.
“It’s going to be fun,”says Daniel.“And besides, there’s not going to be any grown-ups home, so you have to come along.”
“What about Mercy?”
“She’s busy.”
“Is she going to be at the party?”
“You never know.”
“Can I really take Ginkie?”
Daniel picks Ruby up, notches her onto his hip.The weight ofher balances him, somehow damps down the anxiety.
The three ofthem drive to the party, through a mild November afternoon.The sun is high and hazy in the pale-blue sky, it looks like a little stain on a shirt.The wreckage oflast month’s storm is still everywhere in evidence—collapsed old barns, fallen trees, heartbreaking wreaths on the side ofthe road where people lost their lives.
He drives slowly, not wanting to telegraph how anxious he is to arriveat the party.Kate, who since beginning her novel has taken up smok-ing again, lights a cigarette and cracks the window to let out the smoke.
“Don’t smoke!”Ruby cries out, the way they all do in unison at her day care center, duringAwarenessTraining, when the kids are introduced to all God’s dangers:Don’t smoke! Don’t drink! Don’t touch me!
Kate rolls her eyes, inviting Daniel to share her exasperation, but at the same time she reaches behind her and gives Ruby’s knee a humorous little squeeze.
“Are there going to be other kids at the party?”Ruby asks.
After a briefsilence, Daniel answers.“I don’t really know for sure.I imagine so.”
“I want Nelson to be there,”Ruby says.“Was he invited?”
“I don’t know who was invited,”Daniel says.He feels Kate’s eyes on him, and his voice wavers.
“Oh, I certainly hope Nelson is there,”Kate says, taking one last drag ofher cigarette and then tossing it out the window.“With his lovely par-ents.That would make everything special.”
“He’s nice,”Ruby says, stretching her arms and legs.The child seat seems suddenly a size too small for her.
“Oh, he’s fantastic,”Kate says.“The whole family.”
She glances at Daniel, notes his discomfort, and wraps her hand around the crook ofhis right arm, momentarily throwing his steering off.
They are riding through the village now, past the church in which the four ofthem heard theMessiaha few weeks ago.It seems like months, years.
She remembers Daniel and Iris, the little looks they traded.Was he al-ready fucking her? He claims not, but it’s probably ridiculous to assume scrupulous honesty from him.Maybe he was.Maybe Kate was already be-ing played for a fool.When she was young the thought ofsomehow being the butt ofa joke was at the absolute zenith ofher jealousy, nothing was worse than thinking someone might be reveling in putting something over on her.But now, to her surprise, the possibility that Daniel and Iris might have taken some grotesque pride in fooling her barely registers in Kate.It seems the most trivial part ofthe story.This is a story about sad-ness and loss, about getting a shocking wake-up call to put her house back in order, this is a story about what she had to learn in order to make things right again.She wonders ifshe is deluding herself, but that thought is sim-ply too painful.Instead she thinks:I should thank them,trying that one on for size.But no, it doesn’t fit, either.Too big.Or too small.Something.
They drive on the curving, bucolic blacktop that goes past Leyden’s riverside mansions.The estate next to Eight Chimneys, which for two hundred years had been known as Eliade, has finally been sold offby the dissolute progeny ofits original owners and is now called Leyden Farms.
A wooden roadside stand has been built across the road from the en-trance gate where bushels ofgolden delicious and Macintosh apples are sold—a puzzling bit offrugality on the new owner’s part.He is a middle-aged television producer, specializing in hospital dramas, and he paid close to eight million dollars for the estate.It’s difficult to see how the two or three hundred dollars made annually from selling apples could make much difference to him.Perhaps they’re a tax dodge.
A mile later, they come to the crumbling stone gates ofEight Chimneys.
The estate’s gatehouse sits at the edge ofthe road—a small stone house that is an architectural miniature ofthe mansion, and in even worse repair.
“These people are so crazy,”Kate says.“Everything is falling apart, it’s just chaos everywhere.”
“I’d think you’d like this sort ofthing,”says Daniel.“It’s sort ofsouthern.It’s Faulknerian.”
“IfI wanted to be in the South, I would have stayed in the South.I think people ought to take care ofwhat they have.I hate things going to wrack and ruin.And Daniel?This isn’t Faulknerian.Everything creepy and south-ern isn’t Faulknerian, just like everything annoying isn’t Kafkaesque.”
The long driveway between the road and the main house has somehow gotten worse since the last time he drove it.The potholes have dou-bled in depth, and now Daniel must dodge the crowns offallen trees—once he drives directly into one ofthe craters.When they reach the main house, there are only five cars in front, and one ofthem has no tires and has obviously been there for quite a while.
“You said it was going to be a big party,”Ruby says.
”It will be,”Daniel says.“We’re just a little early.”
“When’s Nelson coming?�
��Ruby asks.She hugs her doll close to her.
”I don’t know ifhe’s coming at all, Monkey,”Daniel says.“But there will be other kids, I promise.”
“You promise?”asks Kate, amazed.
”Yes,”Daniel says.And Kate shakes her head, clearly implying that Daniel, ifhe had the proper humility, would never make another prom-ise for as long as he lived.
They are met at the door by Susan, wearing a rust-colored corduroy jumper, such as you would see on a schoolgirl.Her graying hair is twisted into a long braid.Her face looks moist and dense, like the inside ofan apple.
“Hello, Kate,”Susan says, extending her hand.Her voice is frosty, edged with contempt.She is punishing him for his participation in Fer-guson’s and Marie’s scheme.“It’s nice to see you.We’re putting coats in here.”Then, turning toward Daniel,“Ifany ofthe politicians show up, I’ll leave them to you.I can’t stand politicians.”
She leads them into what had once been the conservatory, a large room with floor-to-ceiling casement windows.The room is empty, ex-cept for an antique telescope standing gawkily in a corner, and a long oak table upon which the guests can deposit their coats.“Isn’t this the room where Professor Plum did it, usinga…candlestick?”Kate murmurs to Daniel.Susan is walking a few feet in front ofthem, with her hand rest-ing on Ruby’s shoulder.
“We haven’t met,”Susan says to Ruby.“I’m Susan Ferguson.”
Ruby has never been addressed in quite this tone.There is no inflection in Susan’s voice that would suggest she is speaking to a child.Con-fused, and a little thrilled, as well, Ruby looks up at the strange woman.
”Is this your house?”she asks.She holds her doll behind her back to hide it from Susan.
“Oh please, don’t remind me.Look.”She gestures toward the wallpaper, faded blue and dirty white, showing a repeated pattern ofa little girl in a pinafore holding a hoop through which jumps her dingy little dog.“Not to mention…”She points to the warped floorboards, then the copper-colored stains on the ceiling.Susan sighs, takes Ruby’s coat from her.“You know, at a certain point, you just give up.”She looks down at Ruby, gives her a curious little frown, as she wonders why this child seems so unresponsive.“Are you in school?”she asks.
The party is centered in what the Richmonds still call the ballroom, and, in fact, it is a room where dancing sometimes occurs—though now it is either raucous, sweating rock and roll, or the sacred, ceremonial steps ofApache rain dancers or Sufi dervishes, performers brought in by Susan.People are beginning to arrive, but Daniel is too nervous by now to do more than nod a distant hello to each ofthem.It is striking him with some force that coming to this party is a grave mistake.IfIris doesn’t show up, it will break his heart, his indelible disappointment will show like blood on a sheet.Ifshe does appear—then what? How will he be able to keep away from her?
He stands, with Kate, near the fireplace where four-foot white birch logs are smoldering.The brick wall ofthe hearth is coated with creosote, black and sticky.Kate speaks to him through the side ofher mouth.
”Thank God we hurried getting here.I think it’s important to be among the very first to arrive.Don’t you?”
“There’s no kids here,”Ruby says.
”There will be, I’m sure ofit,”Daniel answers.
”I want Nelson,”says Ruby.
Daniel stares at the fire.He knows Kate is looking directly at him, but he pretends to be absorbed by the progress ofthe flame as it slowly burns through the logs.His face is scalding;the fire burns his thoughts away, and he stands there as ifhypnotized.When he finally steps away he sees a few more people have arrived, and that Ruby has found the food on the other side ofthe room and is grabbing handfuls ofpotato chips.
Susan has taken it upon herselfto point out a mural on the ballroom’s ceiling to Kate, who has a plastic cup ofwine in her hand.
“Ferguson’s great-grandfather Payson Richmond commissioned a Portuguese artist to make this mural.Payson wanted a picture ofheaven, he wanted stars, which you see, and a moon, over there, and he wanted to see God.More than anything he wanted God up there, looking down on all the wonderful people.But the artist, whose name was Barbieri, was a devout atheist.You see, no saints, and certainly no God.Payson in-sisted that Barbieri get back on the scaffolding and find a place for God and Barbieri ofcourse refused, and before anyone could intervene the two ofthem were fighting like kids, slapping each other in the face, push-ing, and Payson ended up slipping on the floor and hitting the side ofhis head, which caused him to lose the hearing in his right ear.”
Kate seems amused as she listens to this.She has a taste for the sort ofceaselessly self-referential anecdotes families like the Richmonds like to tell.She herselfuses phrases like“old family”and“good family.”She believes in genealogy, she believes in birthrights, she feels that the deeds and misdeeds ofour ancestors are a large part ofwho we are.Daniel prefers not to believe in such things, the idea that who we are is deter-mined by our ancestors has never appealed to him, and now, ofcourse, it is repellent.Yet he is relieved to see Kate staring up at the mural with Susan.Kate’s neck is long and still firm.She is wearing a black skirt, flat-tering and tight, a bolero jacket, clip-on pearl earrings.Her hands are on her hips.She looks lithe, high-spirited, ifhe didn’t know her he would want to.How strange it feels not to love her.That love had once felt so stable, dependable, its very lack ofdrama made it feel eternal, and now, to feel so little, to feel almost nothing outside ofrespect, and a desire not to hurt her too badly, is like waking up one morning and finding that you no longer can enjoy the taste ofbread.
Ferguson, meanwhile, is on the third floor, in the room into which Marie has moved.There’s a little hooked rug on the floor;the walls are bare except for an old brass bell that used to be connected to a system ofpulleys controlled from a panel in the butler’s pantry and could be rung to summon whatever maid might be using that room.Ferguson sits on the edge ofMarie’s bed, dressed in work pants, a frayed white shirt, while she dips a comb into a glass ofwater and grooms him.“Hey, take it easy,”he says, as she rakes the comb through his hair, but she is deter-mined to bring his unruly mop under control.She combs his hair straight back and when she finally finishes, Ferguson stands up and walks stiff-leggedly to the window, where he sees his faint reflection swimming in the old wavy glass.“Great,”he says.“Now I look like a Mexican.”
“I doubt it,”says Marie.She kisses his forehead.“IfI help you save Eight Chimneys…”
“I’ll be forever in your debt,”Ferguson says.
”That’s sort ofwhat I’m counting on.It’ll put us on the same level.I won’t be poor little Marie, I’ll be the girl who saved you.”
When the party is in full swing, Marie plans to make a little speech.
She wants to thank everyone for coming and to give a briefoverview of the Eight Chimneys Project, which is what she is now calling the plan to turn the house into a historical site.Ferguson has come to her room, however, not only to kiss her, and to walk with her down to the old ball-room, but to talk her out ofmaking her speech.Susan must not be over-shadowed in that way, it will be humiliating to her, and that would be unkind and even a little dangerous.But now that he is with Marie he finds that he doesn’t have the heart to tell her not to address the guests.
She deserves the credit and she deserves the recognition.And the per-sonal significance that this afternoon must hold for Marie has suddenly become touchingly clear to him.What a triumph, what a turn ofevents, what a change offortune.Here, after all, is a girl who was raised by one ofthe estate’s old servants, a girl whom destiny seemed to have marked for a life ofutter insignificance.How could anyone with a heart interfere with her moment ofglory?I’ll stand next to Susan while Marie makes her speech,he thinks.Maybe I’ll put my arm around her.
“Are you ready?”he asks Marie.
She touches her throat, and then the pearl necklace that Susan and Ferguson gave her on her sixteenth birthday.She is dressed in an oatmeal-colored woolen suit.It
seems like something women wear to the office.Ferguson has no idea how she chooses her clothes;he’s meant to ask her but it keeps slipping his mind.
“Do I look all right?”she asks.
”You’re beautiful.You make me very, very happy.”
She seems truly surprised by his tenderness.He rarely says sweet things to her ifthey aren’t in bed—in fact, the best part ofsleeping with him is getting to hear that gentle voice.
“I wish Dad were here,”she says.
”I do, too, honey,”says Ferguson.“I really do.Now let’s go down there and shock the hell out ofeverybody.”
Marie stops in her tracks.“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.Nothing.I have no idea why I said that.Fumes from the lead paint on these old walls.”He links his arm through hers and steers her through the doorway.
Ferguson and Marie come down just as State Senator Phil Russell joins the party.Russell is a stocky, ravenous man, dressed in a brown suit.Thirty years ago, he was a football star at Sacred Heart, aWindsor County Catholic high school, and his chin, nose, and forehead still show the scars ofhis three years on the offensive line.He surveys the room with wary eyes—this bastion ofthe faded aristocracy is not on his regu-lar beat.Russell runs on the Republican and the Right to Life tickets;he has been warned by his staffthat while the Richmonds’Republican roots are deep, Ferguson and Susan are at the end ofthe line and their house is a gathering place for eccentrics and flakes.
As Ferguson and Marie make their way toward Russell, Susan swoops him up and escorts him over to meet Daniel.By now, forty or fifty people have shown up, but not Iris, and Daniel is trying to keep his composure.
“Daniel, I’m sure you know Phil Russell,”Susan says.“Mr.Russell,
Daniel Emerson has agreed to act as our attorney in this whole business.
Isn’t that nice ofhim?”
For a moment, Daniel wonders ifSusan is somehow under the impression that he’s not going to bill them, but then he realizes this is merely her manner.
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